In the Woods

by Merry Jones

  Annie came back with cookies and juice. Made him eat.

  Damn. He hadn’t eaten in a while. Couldn’t remember when. He scarfed down the cookies, guzzled the juice. Felt his energy come back. He gave Mavis a quick hug, thanked Annie. And, as the Hunt Club members swarmed and buzzed like an angry hive, he stood up and walked back to his place by the gong.

  It was the chief’s turn to talk.

  Bob pointed at Pete’s sandwich. ‘You gonna eat that?’

  Eat? Really? Pete squinted out the crack beside the door, able to see only a sliver of open space. But in that sliver, he could see segments of the two armed guards still standing near the fence. How could Bob think about food? The walls of the shed squeezed him, taunting, suffocating. The burns on his face and hands had become inflamed and raw. They were trapped with a stash of explosives and ammunition. And according to the angle of the sun, it would be a couple more hours until it would be dark enough to try to escape. But Bob was thinking of food.

  ‘Because if you don’t want it, I’ll take it.’

  Fuck if he was going to let Bob have it. ‘I want it.’

  ‘Why aren’t you eating it?’

  Really? ‘I’m saving it.’

  ‘How about you give me half?’

  ‘No.’

  Bob didn’t answer. Pete looked out at the guards, thinking. Maybe they didn’t have to wait for sundown – maybe they could run for it now. If he and Bob carried rifles and took the guards by surprise, they might be able to get past them and climb over the fence. Except the guards had radios, would call for help. And the local people knew the woods better, would outnumber them. So, for it to work, the guards would have to be disabled.

  ‘We’ll need to tie them up.’ He turned to Bob. Saw him swallow a mouthful of his sandwich. ‘Fuck you, Bob. I said I wanted that.’ He was on his feet, grabbing at the bread, snatching it out of Bob’s hand so hard that he stumbled backwards. Bob grappled with him, tearing off a crust and a wad of ham.

  ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you?’ Bob chewed.

  ‘What’s wrong with me? You’re the one who took somebody else’s sandwich.’ Pete steadied himself, clutching what was left of it. Took a bite even though he doubted he could keep it down. He chewed slowly, his eyes on Bob. ‘You had no right.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Bob met Pete’s eyes. ‘Stop being such a little girl.’

  That was it. Pete had had enough. ‘You know what, Bob? When this is over, I’m done with you.’

  ‘Yeah? Good.’ Bob grinned, got to his feet. ‘I can’t wait to be rid of your sorry ass.’ He gave Pete’s sternum a push.

  ‘What, now you’re pushing me?’ Pete’s eyelids twitched. Even with the sandwich in his hand, he pushed Bob back.

  Bob’s eyes hardened and he shoved Pete hard, knocking him against the wall. Pete bounced back, letting loose, kicking and punching, and the two of them fell over, rolling on the floor, bumping against boxes and crates, yelping in pain as their burnt flesh made impact with wood, fabric, stubble, or skin.

  ‘Apologize.’ Pete’s voice was too loud, and they were making a ruckus. Pete didn’t care. He was pissed. He locked his elbows around Bob’s head and squeezed.

  ‘Let go,’ Bob hissed. ‘They’ll hear us.’

  ‘Fine. Let them,’ Pete said louder. He was ready to be caught. Anything would be better than staying closed up in this claustrophobic shack in a forest where hairy monsters roamed and your so-called friend stole your food. ‘Apologize.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ Bob growled, swinging his burn-covered fists onto Pete’s back.

  Pete tightened his vise-like grip on Bob’s head. ‘Only if you apologize.’

  ‘Fine,’ Bob winced. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No. Like you mean it.’

  ‘Fine.’ Bob’s voice quivered. ‘I apologize. Sincerely. I shouldn’t have taken your sandwich.’

  ‘And you’ll respect me and my property from now on.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll respect you and your property from now on.’

  ‘Good.’ Pete released him.

  Bob whirled around and socked Pete in the jaw. Pete went down, landing hard on the stuffed backpacks.

  Bob’s froze. The blood drained from his face. ‘Shit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t move.’

  ‘What – why?’ Pete held his jaw, looked around. Saw the backpacks under him. Glanced at Bob, remembering what was in them. Not just the C4 and their leftover pipe bomb, but those jars of unidentified liquid and gel. Possibly unstable stuff that might explode on impact. Pete took a breath and propelled himself forward, crossing the shed toward the door, running on his knees.

  ‘Oh man.’ Bob’s hands covered his face. ‘I thought we were goners.’

  ‘Asshole. Knocking me onto that shit? You could have fucking killed us both.’

  ‘Shh.’ Bob looked out the open crack by the door. ‘Keep your voice down. We’re fine. They probably need a detonator.’

  ‘You don’t know that. We have no idea what that stuff is. The liquid could be nitro-fucking-glycerin. I told you. It blows up if you look at it wrong.’

  ‘Jesus, Pete. I swear, if you don’t stop whining—’

  ‘What? You’ll push me onto a bagful of nitro?’

  ‘Cool it, would you? Nothing happened.’

  Pete settled against the door, rubbed his jaw with one raw hand, held the crushed and filthy remains of his sandwich in the other.

  Bob sat down beside him, crossed his legs. ‘Fucking maniac,’ he said. ‘You weren’t eating it anyway.’

  ‘It’s the principle. It was mine.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, you’re welcome to it. Bon appétit.’

  Pete looked at it, dropped it on the ground. The sun hadn’t moved. So they still had two more hours? His jaw throbbed where Bob’s fist had landed. His burns killed. There was a ten-foot monster wandering around; women who’d disappeared. The walls of the shed were crushing him. And now, his best friend – the partner who shared responsibility for their whole plan – had turned on him. He’d known Bob had a dark side, but never suspected that he’d stoop so low as to take a guy’s sandwich.

  Pete looked out the crack near the door. Saw the monster’s footprints in the dirt. The barbed wire fence across the field. Something was wrong, though. It took a while to figure out what it was: He didn’t see the guards. Maybe it was nothing; after all, he could see only a narrow strip. Probably they’d moved out of his line of sight.

  Still, he grabbed a rifle, motioned for Bob to do the same, opened the door another inch, widening his view. And saw the muzzle of a shotgun, pointed at his head.

  Harper stood on tiptoes, stretching to reach the vent so she could hear what was going on upstairs, but Angela interfered.

  ‘What are you doing, Harper? What’s going on?’ Angela sat up on the cot, repeating questions. ‘What happened to me?’ She touched her matted hair, felt her scalp. Winced.

  ‘Angela, quiet. I can’t hear what they’re saying.’

  ‘Oh God. My head got split open. I can feel it. Was I unconscious? The last thing I remember is eating oatmeal at your campsite – so what happened? How did I hurt my head? How did we get here? And who’s this guy?’ She tilted her head toward Jim. He was silent, sitting on the floor, still staring at the light bulb.

  Harper turned to Angela, felt like knocking her out again. ‘I’ll explain later.’

  ‘Why not now?’

  Harper glared.

  ‘Okay, just tell me – are we in jail?’

  ‘Of course not—’

  ‘Then what is this place? How come I can’t remember coming here?’

  ‘You said it yourself; you were unconscious for a while. You got dropped on your head.’

  ‘Dropped on my head?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘But who dropped me? Was it him?’ Angela tried to get up, moved her leg, grimaced. ‘Oh God, my ankle.’ She looked at it, saw the swelling, the garish purplish color. ‘Wait �
�� your husband. I remember, I hurt my ankle and he went to get help—’

  ‘Angela. Enough!’ Harper heard commotion from the meeting room.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I talk? Tell me what’s going on – why are you standing up there?’

  Oh God. Maybe the quickest way to quiet Angela would be to answer her questions. ‘I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.’

  ‘What who’s saying? Where are we? What are we doing here?’ Angela scuttled to the edge of the cot, looked around. ‘Where’s my walking stick? I need to get out of here.’ Her voice was shrill, rising in pitch.

  Jim didn’t move, just said, ‘Good luck.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re locked up. Prisoners.’

  ‘What?’ Angela turned to Harper, squawking. ‘What’s he saying? You said we weren’t in jail.’

  ‘We were kidnapped,’ Harper said. ‘By some locals.’

  ‘Locals? Why? I haven’t done anything to them. I don’t even know any of them. What could they want with me?’

  With her? Harper rolled her eyes.

  Angela turned to Jim. ‘Who are you?’

  Jim looked at her, said nothing.

  The sound of a gong resounded through the vent.

  ‘Angela,’ Harper used her lieutenant’s voice, ‘that’s Jim. He works for the pipeline, okay? Now, I need to listen, so quiet.’

  Angela wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes darted from left to right, up and down. ‘No – no. This is crazy. I need to get out of here.’

  The gong sounded again.

  ‘Shh – they’re starting again.’

  ‘Starting? Starting what?’ Angela shrieked. ‘Oh God. I can’t stay here. Let me out.’ She pushed herself up, hopping on her uninjured foot, yelling. ‘Help! Somebody! Help! Let me—’

  She didn’t finish because Jim got up, put his arms out and charged, growling, ‘Just shut up!’

  Angela landed on the cot, winded and stunned. She edged back against the wall, whimpering and huffing, and sat eyeing Jim. But, for the moment, she didn’t say a word. Harper stood at the vent, listening to the crowd settle as the captain began to speak.

  The captain stood on a crate, elevating himself above the others. It wasn’t a tactic he preferred, but the members were riled up and rowdy. He needed to assert his authority, and visible stature was a symbol everyone would respond to. Gradually.

  ‘Okay.’ He raised his arms, motioning for them to settle down. Calling for attention, he noted that people had divided into groups. The biggest surrounded that lunatic Josh, who had just put everyone into a frenzy. But another bunch, mostly women, clustered around Mavis. He needed to unite them all, remind them that he was their leader.

  ‘Let me get right to it,’ he began. ‘I’ve been briefed on what’s gone on while I was out chasing bombers and fending off the Feds. I understand that some of us have taken it upon themselves to take hostages, and that we now have three people locked in the hole. That’s abduction. It makes us a target for investigation by the Feds, as if we didn’t have enough problems.’

  Somebody shouted, ‘They’re prisoners of war!’

  Somebody added, ‘Stop being a pussy, Slader!’

  Slader took a breath. ‘As your sector chief, I need to talk to you about reasoned action. About planning. About control.’

  ‘About bullshit.’ That came from Josh’s camp.

  ‘You already know that the killings and bombings have made our little territory the focus of the state police, the ATF, the media, and the gas and pipeline companies. The woods are crawling with investigators.’

  ‘What’s your point?’ a woman called out.

  Slader didn’t react, just kept talking. ‘We have no reason to believe that any of the people you’ve taken prisoner have anything to do with the bombings. Nor do we have reason to believe any assertions of a conspiracy; there is simply no evidence to support that theory.’

  Josh yelled, ‘Except what I saw with my own eyes.’

  ‘You calling Josh a liar?’ Moose shouted.

  Slader ignored the comments. ‘You chose me as your leader, and I’ve been honored to act as sector chief. But if I’m to lead, you have to listen to me. I’ve told you that the best action right now is no action. That for now, our best plan is to lie low and wait for the investigators to do their jobs and leave. After seeing what’s occurring today – the influx of media and cops – that is still my opinion.’

  ‘Lie low and hide?’ Josh stood up. ‘Like that’s gotten us anywhere before? We’ve laid low for years and lots of us still can’t drink our water. I’m done being a chicken shit. It’s time we make examples of people who mess with us. It’s time to stand up and fight!’

  People cheered.

  Slader felt a vise on his chest, heat on his face. ‘That’s exactly what we need not to do. Remember our purpose here is unity. Each of us alone can break like a fragile stick. But when we stand and act together, just like a band of sticks, we become unbreakable. This is why we need to voice our concerns in unison to the authorities—’

  ‘Listen to him. The chief wants us to line up politely and behave like good boys and girls. What do you want us to do, Slader, sign a fucking petition? Hold a sit-in? Or maybe just bend over and let them stick it to us?’ People were shouting, applauding, but Josh put his hands up. ‘Quiet down. I have a question, and I want everyone to hear the answer.’ The Hunt Club became silent. ‘Let me ask you this, Slader: Whose side are really you on?’

  The air thickened. Everyone sat hushed, waiting for his answer.

  ‘Go on. Tell us why you’re so opposed to us taking action and fighting the people who’ve stolen our land and ruined our resources? I repeat the question: Whose side are you on?’

  Slader stood at attention, raised an eyebrow. Sweat beaded on his forehead. ‘What kind of question is that? I’m your sector chief.’

  ‘Our sector chief?’ Josh turned to the group. ‘Slader’s a gosh-darned police captain. Why didn’t any of us realize it before? Slader isn’t one of us. He’s the fricking law – he’s part of the establishment—’

  ‘That’s not true. This is my home—’

  ‘—and he represents the government. Why else would he keep telling us to lie low and take it?’

  ‘I’ve protected us and our interests—’

  ‘And you’ve told us to do nothing but lie low and write letters to our congressman. Well, we’re fed up, Slader. Finished. Done with you and your two-faced attempts to hold us back. I say, it’s time to stop pussyfooting and go to war!’

  Cheers interrupted him. He put his hands up again, calling for quiet. ‘Outsiders have come to take our land. They’ve blown it up, raping it to satisfy their greed, stealing its treasures. They’ve been poisoning us, killing us slowly, one by one, and now they’re picking things up, conspiring, setting off bombs, shooting folks. The only way to stop them is to show them we won’t take it anymore. That we’ll crush anyone who messes with us, starting with the conspirators we’ve got in the hole—’

  A low murmur rumbled among the crowd.

  ‘—and moving onto the rest of the invaders who come here to shatter the earth and poison our water and take our forest.’

  The murmur built, gathering energy and density.

  ‘We have no choice. They’ve pushed us to the brink. It’s time we take a stand and spill some blood. Who’s with me?’

  Cheers erupted in a roar. People were on their feet, clamoring around Josh, declaring him their new leader, shouting that they were with him.

  The sector chief stood on his crate, watching the fervor. ‘This is wrong,’ he shouted. ‘We’re out-manned. Out gunned. You’re making a mistake.’

  No one seemed to notice him.

  He looked across the room, searching faces. For Mavis. She lusted for him, could never get enough of him. Surely now, when he needed her support, she would stand with him. There she was – he looked at her, met her eyes.

  Mavis bit her lip and turned away, leading
her pack of women toward Josh. The captain felt a stab. Took a breath. Raised his chin.

  At least Hiram was still at his side. Hiram had clout. He would speak for him, sway everyone, bring them back to their senses. The captain turned to him.

  Hiram shrugged, shook his head, and moved aside to make room for Moose and Ax. Unbelievably, they were coming for him, their jaws set and gazes cold.

  ‘Moose,’ he said. ‘Ax? What can I do for you?’

  But they didn’t answer. Didn’t say anything. Just took hold of his arms.

  Stunned, the chief stepped off the crate, didn’t resist as Ax and Moose took his gun and led him away. He stood tall, facing them with dignity and poise, but inside he crumbled to his knees, knowing how it felt to be Caesar, betrayed by his closest friends.

  Harper climbed down from the pile of cots. ‘They’re coming.’ She scanned the room. ‘We’ve got to do something.’

  ‘Like what?’ Jim was jittery again, shifted his weight from foot to foot. ‘What do you mean, “they’re coming”? What did you hear?’

  ‘What are we supposed to do?’ Angela’s mouth dropped. ‘I can’t even walk.’

  ‘Harper?’ Jim crossed his arms, uncrossed them.

  Harper was distracted as she answered. Her mind was on defense. On coming up with a strategy. ‘They’re like a mob.’ She examined the ceiling, the walls. ‘And they want to use us in some war with the gas company or the government—’

  ‘War?’ Jim bit a nail. ‘You mean like a stand-off? Like in Waco? Are these people in one of those crazy cults?’

  ‘All I know is they’re angry and violent. So when they come for us, we’ve got to be ready.’

  ‘But I can’t even stand,’ Angela wailed. ‘What will happen to me?’

  Harper pulled the top cot down, turned it over.

  ‘How can we be “ready”?’ Jim fretted. ‘What are you doing?’

  She began twisting the screws that held the cot’s metal frame together. ‘We need weapons.’

  ‘Weapons?’ Jim stood over her, clucking and useless. ‘You’re thinking of the cots? The spokes? Are you kidding? They have guns.’

  Damn. She couldn’t loosen the screws. She looked around for a tool, saw empty chili cartons, water bottles. A blanket. Some bloodstained clips in Angela’s matted hair. She didn’t ask, just went over to Angela, took a couple of clips.