In the Woods

by Merry Jones

  ‘Ouch,’ Angela complained. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’ll give them back.’ Harper slid a silver barrette into the slit on top of the screw, turned it like a screwdriver. The screw didn’t move, but the barrette bent. Damn. She needed to slow down, finesse her movements. She took a breath and tried again with the barrette doubled over. Gently. Finally, even though the barrette was mangled, the screw gave way and came loose.

  ‘Hold this.’ She handed the screw to Jim, giving him a job.

  ‘So when are they coming?’ Angela sat up on her cot, hugging herself. ‘Now? What will they do with us?’

  Harper ignored her, concentrating. The hatch could open any moment.

  Angela kept whimpering. ‘You two can fend for yourselves, but what am I supposed to do? I have a broken ankle and I can’t see straight. I probably have a concussion.’

  Harper couldn’t take the time to reply. She focused, working the screws.

  Jim watched, perturbed. ‘Seriously.’ Jim eyed the trapdoor in the ceiling. ‘Even if you take them off, how are we supposed to fight guns and rifles with a few metal rods?’

  Harper didn’t look up; kept working. ‘You got a better idea?’

  Jim was silent, shifted his weight to his other leg, watched the hatch.

  ‘Point is …’ Harper pulled a leg off the cot, handed it to Jim, who examined it, feeling its tip. ‘They won’t expect us to have any weapons at all. We’ll be able to surprise them. If we can get close enough to knock out somebody or take a hostage or get one gun, we’ll have leverage.’

  ‘And then what?’ Angela asked. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I can barely move.’

  Harper removed another leg from the cot. She held it, examined the end, its rough edges. If she had time, she could file those edges on the concrete walls, make them sharper. But even as it was, if she placed the rod right, aimed it at an eye or a throat, and if she was able to get enough momentum – well, she could make it work.

  Angela fretted, Jim paced, and Harper worked on strategy. They would lay the legless cot on top of another one so no one coming into the room would notice it right away. She and Jim would each conceal metal legs behind them and wait for the right moment to strike. But that’s as far as her strategy went because she didn’t know how many would come for them, where they’d be positioned, or how many weapons they’d have. She needed to plan for a variety of possible scenarios.

  She was still formulating the first scenario when the hatch opened. Even before the ladder descended, Angela started begging for mercy, crying that she was a widow who hadn’t done anything to anyone. Harper braced herself. They weren’t ready yet, hadn’t discussed a plan. She shoved her metal rods under a mattress, nodded at Jim, signaling that he should do the same. But damn, it was too late.

  The ladder dropped into place and someone yelled down, telling them to keep clear. Jim leaned against the wall, stuffed his metal rod behind his back. Boots descended. Harper focused, adrenalin pumping. Josh had promised to make examples of them, to spill blood. There was no choice but to fight, with or without a plan. She took a breath, thought of Hank and Chloe, and watched legs slowly lower themselves down, revealing hips, then a torso. As soon as the guy’s feet neared the floor, before he could grip or aim his gun, she would pounce, grab his neck, and thrust her skinny metal rod into his throat. Someone might shoot from above, but if she positioned herself right, he’d cover her; the guy would take the bullet.

  He was almost down. Harper got ready, picked up the metal bar, held it behind her back. Got to her feet.

  ‘You’ve got a new room-mate,’ someone called from above.

  When the guy’s head came through the hatch, Harper took a step back and dropped her stick onto a cot. Taking him down would do no good, and he would be worthless as a hostage. Wasn’t even a danger to them. When he’d descended the final rungs, the ladder got pulled up, the hatch door slammed shut.

  ‘You all right?’ Harper asked.

  When Captain Slader turned around, his eyes were wild and red, and even though he was looking right at Harper when she spoke, he didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to hear.

  Slader slumped on a cot, head in his hands.

  ‘Captain Slader?’ Angela shrieked. ‘Oh God – did you come to rescue us? Have you called for backup?’

  ‘Where’ve you been, Angela?’ Jim’s eyes bulged, staring at Slader. ‘He didn’t come to help us. He’s with the Hunt Club. In fact, he’s their leader.’

  ‘No, he’s not.’ Angela scowled. ‘He’s the police captain – he’s investigating Phil’s murder. Captain? Tell him. You’ve come to help us, right?’

  ‘I just told you,’ Jim snapped. ‘You were out of it before. Maybe you didn’t hear. Slader’s one of them—’

  ‘Impossible.’ Angela’s voice went up an octave. ‘I know him. He arrested my ex-husband. Captain, tell him how you took Stan into custody—’

  ‘He’s head of the locals.’

  ‘He was, but not any more.’ Harper flopped down, sat on the cot beside Angela. ‘There’s been a coup.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Jim turned in circles, running his hands through his hair.

  ‘I’m telling you now: Captain Slader’s been ousted. Now he’s just another prisoner.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Angela groaned.

  The three of them gaped at Slader, who said nothing, just stared at his boots.

  ‘Okay, enough. We’re wasting time,’ Harper said. ‘They’ll be back for us soon. So let’s get ready.’

  ‘Ready?’ Angela scoffed. ‘How? Fix our mascara? Pray? Plan our last words?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, would you?’ Jim snapped. ‘All you do is bitch and whine.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, why shouldn’t I? In case you haven’t noticed, I have a broken ankle, my husband’s been murdered, and I’ve been kidnapped by lunatics. I guess I have a right to bitch—’

  ‘You know what? Your husband’s lucky. At least he doesn’t have to listen to you bitch and moan any more—’

  A sharp, skull-rattling whistle interrupted them. As Harper took her fingers away from her mouth, everyone spun around and looked at her; even Slader watched her vaguely through glazed eyes.

  ‘Okay?’ She stood at attention. ‘We don’t have time for bickering or brooding. Captain Slader – or is it chief? Whatever you call yourself – we need your input. I heard what you said to your people before. The part about being stronger when they work together. Well, that’s true for us, too. Each of us alone is powerless, but all of us together might succeed and get out of here.’ She stepped over to the captain. ‘You in?’

  As she spoke, the glassiness in Slader’s eyes cleared and his pupils contracted. Slowly, he got to his feet, stood tall, and faced her. Speaking in a soft, controlled tone, he said, ‘Yes, ma’am. Jennings. I’m in.’

  The whistle penetrated the cloud around the captain. The little blonde woman had sent the sound flying and, sharp as an arrow, it had cut into his brain. She belted out words and phrases with the authority of an army officer. Isn’t that what she’d said she was? A lieutenant? Well, no matter what her rank was, it didn’t matter; they were all goners. All dead. The locals had become an angry mob, led by Josh who was nothing but a twisted overgrown delinquent. He wondered what Josh would do to his body. Cut it up? Burn it? Put it on display? And how were they going to kill him? Probably hanging. Or they might shoot him. Might line up all four prisoners and do a firing squad.

  The blonde woman was standing over him, firing off words. ‘Each of us alone is powerless,’ she said, ‘but all of us together might succeed.’

  Wait. Hold on. That was his rallying cry – the idea that even thin sticks, bound together, would be unbreakable. It was true, and this woman understood. She recognized his wisdom even when his own people had rejected and shunned him.

  Well, it wasn’t their fault, really. It was Josh. Josh had turned them against him. Josh. He should have locked him up years ago – animal cruelty.
Vandalism. The list went on. Better yet, he should have eliminated Josh altogether, should have shoved him into the bog or the lake, held him under. Or shot him dead in his Bog Man costume, exposing his fakery to the outsiders.

  But it was no good thinking about should-haves. It was too late. Josh had taken over. Slader kept seeing it happen, again and again. Mavis – hell. How many nights had he spent in her bed? Yet, when he’d needed her to stand with him, she’d walked away. And Hiram, his oldest friend, had turned his back. And Ax – how many times had he let Ax slide for driving under the influence? And Moose? He’d taught Moose to shoot a rifle – helped him bag his first buck. All of them had abandoned him. Annie, Wade – every single one of them. He couldn’t stop listing the betrayals, seeing the backs turn. But now, this little blonde was talking about unity and power, staring at him. Why? What did she want from him? Couldn’t she see that he was shattered? A broken, bleeding corpse of a man? A failure as a leader? What was the point of her repeating his words? His people would rather follow Josh on a suicide mission than follow him and survive. He was finished. His life over.

  But the blonde woman was still watching him. Asking, ‘You in?’

  In what? He tried to recall what she’d said. Something to do with the stick thing, probably. Unity. Her eyes were bright, expectant. Strong. Yet they met his with a kind of shyness. No, not shyness. Deference? Yes. And respect. She looked at him the way enlisted men looked at officers, the way he deserved to be looked at. As if she wanted his leadership. He glanced around the room at the other faces. They were all three watching him, all waiting for his reply. These people – this ragtag little band of resistance – needed him.

  Slader chewed his lip. Remembering his rules: A good leader responded to the needs of his people. A good leader put his personal needs aside for the sake of others. A true leader didn’t dodge responsibility. Clearly, this little group was crying out for his help. For the sake of others, he would have to absorb the shock and pain of his own loss, muster his strength, rise to the challenge, and respond to the call.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’m in.’

  ‘So what are they planning?’ Harper asked. ‘What can you tell us?’

  Slader pursed his lips, didn’t respond.

  ‘Just say it. They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?’ Angela lay back on her cot, her voice flat. ‘I know it. We’re never getting out of here.’

  ‘It’s going to be tough.’ Slader sounded grave. ‘They intend to use us as an example.’

  ‘An example of what?’ Jim stopped pacing. ‘I’m just a regular guy who works for a living. I haven’t done anything—’

  Harper cut him off, addressed Slader. ‘Have you heard anything about my husband? He went to the ranger’s station to get help for Angela—’

  Slader looked away. ‘He’s been delayed.’

  Delayed? How? Harper stopped breathing. Was Hank hurt? Oh God. ‘What happened?’

  Slader sighed, met her eyes. ‘He found your trail and was following it with the cops and the ranger. I figured out that your trail was leading them here, to the compound, so I had to slow him down.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Harper stepped toward him, leaned up toward his face.

  Slader backed away. ‘Look, I was protecting my people – delaying the search party until I could get here and find out what the hell was happening.’

  ‘Where’s my husband?’ Harper’s voice trembled. Her fists tightened. Slader was a lot bigger than she was, but she didn’t care. She’d taken down larger men.

  Slader took another step back. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.’

  ‘Did you hurt him?’

  ‘No – calm down. Nothing like that. I just made him take a detour. Look – if I’d known what Josh was planning, I wouldn’t have done it. All I did was mention that you and your husband had been fighting—’

  ‘But that’s not true.’

  ‘—and given that there was blood at your campsite, and that you were gone, I suggested that, statistically, maybe he’d done you in.’

  Oh God. ‘Where’s Hank now?’

  Slader paused. ‘Last time I saw him, he was being questioned by state cops.’

  Help wasn’t coming.

  ‘Asshole.’ Harper couldn’t help it. Her fist caught Slader on the jaw, sent him flying backwards onto a cot.

  Harper rubbed her knuckles, turned away. Jim hopped from foot to foot, hugging himself. Staring.

  ‘Great,’ Angela said. ‘They don’t have to kill us. We can kill ourselves.’

  Slader held his face, sat up. His lip was bleeding. ‘Look, they won’t keep him long. They have no evidence. I just made sure they’d question him. It’s protocol.’

  Protocol? To divert a search party? To interfere with – no, to prevent a rescue?

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Like I said, I didn’t know what was going on.’

  Harper closed her eyes, saw Hank in custody.

  ‘Point is,’ Slader went on, ‘it’s getting dark soon. Even if they get back to it, the search party might not be able to track us here before that. So we’re on our own. We’ll have to take care of ourselves.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ Jim was quaking.

  ‘My guess is they’ll wait until it’s late, when campers and hunters are asleep and no one’s around. Then they’ll come for us. So we have a few hours.’

  A few hours?

  Angela moaned that she didn’t want to die. Jim crouched in a corner. Harper sat down beside Slader, put her hand in her pocket, and held her lemon.

  ‘So? What are we going to do?’ Jim asked. ‘Just sit here?’

  ‘Nothing we can do,’ Angela said. ‘We’re all dead.’

  Jim held up a metal rod. ‘We’ve got these.’ He turned to Harper. ‘We can take apart the other cots, make more. When they come for us, we can rush them – like you said before, we’d have the element of surprise.’

  Harper nodded. ‘We can do that.’

  Like she’d said before? When? Slader tried to follow. Where had that metal thing come from? He looked around, saw that he’d been sitting on a legless cot, placed on top of a normal one. This group had been enterprising, making weapons. Obviously, they didn’t realize the arsenal they were up against.

  ‘You might get one of them with a stick like that – even two. But the others’ll shoot you.’ He stood, smeared the blood off his lip. ‘Our only hope is the ladder.’ He pointed to the trapdoor. ‘Once they lower it, we wait and let them send someone down. As soon as he comes through, we pull the ladder down so fast he can’t help but fall. Before he can get up, we take his weapon. And we have a hostage, a gun, as well as the ladder—’

  ‘They’ll lock the hatch,’ Jim said. ‘What good’s the ladder?’

  ‘They only have one in the compound. They’ll have to get another. So that buys us time. And in that time, who knows? The search party might find us.’

  Harper didn’t think much of Slader’s plan. But she didn’t say anything, didn’t want to squelch the kernel of hope that Slader was planting. Didn’t have a better idea.

  ‘That plan sucks,’ Angela said. ‘Buying us time won’t change anything. Nobody’s coming for us, thanks to you. And even if they did manage to get here, they wouldn’t find us. We’re hidden under the floor. Stop pretending that there’s hope. We’re trapped here, and we’re going to die here – all of us—’

  ‘Shut up! Will you just shut up?’ Jim turned to Harper. ‘Make her stop. She’s making things worse. I swear if she doesn’t stop, I’ll lose it.’

  ‘Angela,’ Harper began, but Angela let out a yowl, sobbing.

  ‘No, Jim’s right. This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if not for me.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Harper said. ‘No one’s to blame but the locals.’

  ‘No. I brought it on.’ Angela kept crying, sniffing. ‘Oh God. What was I thinking? If I hadn’t brought Phil here, he’d still be alive – everything would be diff
erent. It’s my fault. It’s karma. What have I done?’

  Nobody said anything. The others were absorbed in their own thoughts, preparing for the worst.

  Karma? Slader leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching Angela Russo. His cop antennae had begun buzzing. Experience had taught him to look for incongruities, things that didn’t match up. And this Russo woman, well, her behavior was over the top. She’d lost her husband, but hadn’t displayed much grief – in fact, her main emotion had been hatred for her ex-husband, Stan. That and self-pity. For sure, there was something off about her. It occurred to him that he’d been too preoccupied with the Hunt Club, hadn’t really questioned Angela about her whereabouts when her husband had been shot. Hadn’t asked if she’d fired a gun, or how their marriage had been going. Hadn’t focused on the odd coincidence that she’d led investigators right to her ex-husband’s campsite, right to his weapons and ammunition.

  Fact was, Angela Russo had known about her ex’s campsite near the bog; she’d camped with him in that very same spot for years. She must also have known what weapons he had, where he kept them. Slader looked her over, sizing her up. Figured that, if she’d wanted to, she could easily have snuck into Stan’s camp early, while he was asleep, taken his rifle, shot Phil, and returned the gun without Stan knowing. Dagnabbit. The widow might have killed her husband and framed her ex.

  Not that it mattered any more. With Josh in charge of the Hunt Club, they were all going to die.

  Still, he was a cop. Couldn’t let it alone.

  ‘How come you say all this is your fault?’ he asked. ‘Care to explain?’

  Angela froze like a hunted rabbit. ‘Well, it’s not really my fault. I just meant none of this would have happened if we’d stayed home. Phil would be home, raking the leaves. His body wouldn’t have been carved and propped up like a scarecrow—’

  ‘But I believe you said “none of it” would have happened if not for you. What about Al? Jim’s partner? Wouldn’t he still be dead?’