by Jeff Strand
"No." Helen gave a half-smile and dialed.
Something else Helen never did was joke during moments of stress. I got in trouble all the time for doing that. This personality change was starting to become scary.
Seconds later, Helen's half-smile disappeared. "I'm not getting a signal."
"Nothing?" Samantha asked.
Helen held up the display for her to see then tried again. "No signal. It's not working."
"How can that be?" I asked. "We're not that deep in the woods, are we?"
"Maybe the camper's too tightly insulated or something," said Helen.
I frowned. "A camper wouldn't block cell phone reception, would it?"
"I don't know!" Helen snapped. "I'm just saying it isn't working! Where's your phone?"
"It's ... I left it at home," I admitted. "It's on the counter. Next to the spatula." I'd only owned the stupid thing for three weeks, and I avoided its use as much as possible.
"Damn it, Andrew, I thought you were going to try to be more responsible!"
I couldn't believe this. "I am being more responsible! Look, the gas tank is almost full! I turned away from Wreitzer Park on the word of a crazy old man! So I forgot my cell phone ... we had two others in the camper! If you're going to get mad at somebody, get mad at Roger! He forgot to plug in Samantha's phone!"
"It was a funky plug!" Roger insisted.
"Then you should have asked!" Samantha said.
"It looked like it was working!"
"Stop fighting!" Theresa shouted. "You're acting like babies!"
All of the adults shut up. Yes, a nine-year-old who only a short time earlier had been at war over a tiny block of tooth-marked chocolate had successfully put us in our place.
"Let's get the kids out of the way," I suggested, quietly.
Samantha took Kyle's hand. "Here, Kyle, why don't you come up and snuggle with your Aunt Samantha in the top bunk?"
When did she become "Aunt Samantha?" That woman didn't get to appoint herself an honorary aunt without my permission! Who did she think she was? Dear God, if Roger stuck with her he would be whipped beyond all reasonable human--
I put that out of my mind and focused on much more pressing matters, such as, say, the lunatic truck drivers. Samantha helped Kyle onto the upper sleeper, and then climbed up there with him, while Helen huddled down with Theresa on the floor. I left the driver's seat and walked to the rear of the camper to get a look at the guy behind us.
Like his buddy, he was unshaven and had long dark hair. However, this guy was morbidly obese, a fact that was obvious even with most of his body hidden from view. I couldn't make a weight estimate, but he was clearly enormous.
He stared at me, looking almost bored.
"I think Roger and I should go out there and talk to them."
"Andrew, no!" said Helen.
"Maybe they're just playing a joke. Seeing how long we'll sit in here. I mean, what else could they possibly be doing? They're not attacking us or trying to steal our camper or anything like that."
"Maybe they're waiting for somebody else."
And then the guy behind us began to back up. He pulled back nearly ten feet then stopped.
"He's moving," I announced.
"The guy up here is saying something," Roger informed everybody. "Not to us, he must be talking into a walkie-talkie or something."
"It damn well better not be a cell phone," I muttered.
The truck in front of us honked. "Roger, switch places," I said, and we crossed paths in the middle of the camper as I returned to the driver's seat.
The truck honked again.
I honked back and gave him the finger.
Goblin grinned. It was not a grin that left me with a warm fuzzy feeling inside.
I started up the engine. "I think he wants me to back up," I said. What I really wanted to do was floor the gas pedal and knock the grinning prick off the road, but even though our vehicle had the size advantage it would never work, at least not without wrecking the camper.
I slowly backed up. The truck moved forward to match my progress.
"The guy behind us is backing up, too," Roger told me.
We continued moving, blocked between the two trucks. Maneuvering around the first corner was tricky, but I did it without us going off the road.
"What do we have in the way of weapons?" Samantha asked from above.
"Not much," I said. "Unless somebody packed a machine gun without permission."
"Stay up here, honey," Samantha told Kyle, before jumping down. "I'll see what I can find. We've at least got the fishing poles if we get really desperate."
"They're packed at the bottom," said Helen.
Fishing poles. The weapon of choice for the traveler in distress. We also had lots and lots of marshmallows. Maybe we could immobilize these guys with sticky gooey goodness.
It was a long, scary drive. Roger returned to the front while Samantha gave us reports from the rear. Helen and Theresa moved up to the top bunk with Kyle. Joe slept on the floor. The trucks maintained their close proximity to us, never giving me an opportunity to slam on the gas and speed ahead of the one in front, even if there'd been room to get past him.
"You know, we could've handled the Wreitzer Park earwigs just fine," Roger remarked, forcing a smile.
"I think we're almost back to the store," said Samantha. "Do either of you remember if there was a phone inside?"
I glanced at Roger. He shrugged. "We're not sure," I admitted.
"I can't imagine that there wouldn't be." Samantha looked through the open window on the left side of the camper. "When we get just a little bit closer, I'm gonna jump out and make a run for it."
"The hell you will," said Roger.
"We have no idea where they're taking us or what their plans are. What if they're just forcing us to some abandoned area to butcher us? This may be our only chance to get help."
"What if they have guns?"
"I've gotta risk it."
Roger took a deep breath, looking distressed. "You're right, we have to try something. But I'll do it."
Samantha shook her head. "I can run the fastest. Don't worry, I'll be okay. I promise."
"You should take my cell phone," said Helen. "Maybe it'll work outside the camper."
"No. If something happens to me, you'll need it."
"But nothing is going to happen to you."
Samantha considered that, and took the cell phone. "Thanks."
I have to admit, sending our phone along with the woman who would soon be in serious danger didn't sound like a very good idea, but I didn't protest.
Samantha gave Roger a quick kiss then placed her hands on the window sill and prepared to leap out. "Andrew, when I tell you to, stop the camper just long enough for me to jump."
I felt sick to my stomach. Sure, I didn't like Samantha, but I certainly didn't want her to put her life at risk! Though she could technically make it into the woods in just a few strides, it would be at least another twenty or thirty feet before the trees became thick enough to hide her.
Roger looked as if he wanted to grab her arm and hold her back, but after a moment of indecision he went to the rear of the camper.
"Stop!" she said.
I applied the brake.
Samantha leapt out of the camper.
Goblin braked to a halt.
He reached down for something.
Samantha darted toward the woods.
"The one in back has a gun!" Roger cried out.
Goblin raised a gun of his own. A shotgun. He pointed it out of his passenger side window and quickly took aim.
Samantha hurried off the road.
I slammed my foot on the gas pedal.
The camper bashed into the truck, throwing me against the steering wheel. The shotgun fired, but the shot went wild.
Another gunshot went off behind the camper.
I put the camper into reverse.
"Shit!" Roger screamed.
I slammed the gas
pedal again. The camper smashed into the truck behind us as a third gunshot fired.
"Did he hit her? What happened?" Helen demanded over Theresa and Kyle's screams. Joe ran from one end of the camper to the other, barking furiously.
"He got her!" Roger shouted. "Oh, God!"
I glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of motion in the woods and a blur of red. Then I looked at the truck in front of us and put the camper back into drive.
Goblin had his shotgun pointed at me.
I ducked down as he fired, shattering the front windshield. Safety glass sprayed all over me.
"Andrew, reverse!" Roger shouted.
Staying down, I put the camper into reverse once more. Another shot fired from behind us, not quite as loud as the shotgun blasts. It was followed by two more before I could send the camper rocketing backward again. As we collided with the truck, I kept the gas pedal floored, trying to push that maniac right off the road.
More bullets fired, slamming into the seat above my head.
The camper suddenly felt like it was going to topple. I let up on the gas and applied the brake.
"Is everybody okay?" I asked. I heard Theresa and Kyle sobbing, but it didn't sound like either of them had been hurt. "Helen?"
"I'm fine," she said. "We're all fine in here."
"Roger?"
"I think she made it," he announced, sounding out of breath. "They shot her in the arm, I don't know how bad, but she got away!"
I put the camper into park. Joe pressed his flat face against my leg, whimpering.
Now what?
"That was really stupid," Goblin called out. "There's nobody out here who'll help her, and she'd bleed to death before she found them anyway!"
I hoped he wasn't just cleverly trying to psyche us out. The store owner could certainly be part of the gang ... but for now I'd remain optimistic.
If Samantha did get in touch with the police, how long would we have to defend ourselves against these psychos before help arrived? We'd never even found the fishing poles.
I waited silently for a few moments. I couldn't hear any activity outside. Maybe they were conserving ammunition. Maybe their guns were empty. I wasn't about to pop my head into view to check it out.
Then I heard another vehicle approach from the rear.
"Is this bad?" I asked Roger.
"Real bad," he informed me. "Three more trucks."
Maybe they were coming in peace. Maybe they'd talk some sense into the other two, we'd all have a nice chuckle over this silly misunderstanding, and we'd get together for a late lunch and a friendly pillow fight.
Or maybe not.
"Forget this," I said. "We're getting out of here. I'll plow right over one of these trucks if I have to. Everybody hold on."
I floored the gas pedal.
And then I very quickly realized that this had been an extraordinarily bad idea, right in line with many of my other extraordinarily bad ideas of the past.
The camper began to topple to the right.
As everybody else screamed, and I held onto the steering wheel as tightly as I could, the camper fell onto its side with an almost deafening crash.
Chapter Six
I TUMBLED OUT OF the driver's seat and smashed against the other side of the camper as glass rained down upon me. Joe landed on my side with a yelp.
How could I have been so stupid?
The answer was simple: It was me.
I heard sobbing and screaming in the back of the camper, which was a hell of a lot better than corpse silence. "Everybody talk to me!" I called out.
"We're all alive," Helen said.
"You suck, Andrew!" Roger informed me.
I twisted myself around and got to my feet. On the other end of the overturned camper, the bathroom door was hanging open and swinging next to Roger as he tried to move past it.
I was sore and a little dizzy, but I crouched down and made my way back to the main part of the camper, walking on top of the refrigerator door. Helen was crawling out of what had been the upper bunk. She had a nasty gash on the side of her head but looked otherwise unharmed.
Helen grabbed Theresa's arms, and I grabbed Kyle's, and we helped our children out of the bunk. I hugged Kyle, trying to forget for a moment that we were still very deeply screwed.
"What was that all about?" Goblin shouted. I heard a door slam, as if he'd gotten out of his truck. "Do you think this improved your situation?"
"Bite me!" I replied, proving my spirit wasn't yet broken but that I was too shaken up to think of anything more clever to say than "Bite me."
Then I thought, oops, I should've shut up and pretended to be dead. What a dork.
"We're not here to kill you," Goblin said, "but we'll do it if we have to, no problem."
"What's our other option?" I asked.
"Come out and give yourselves up."
That didn't sound like a very good option. On the other hand, if their master plan had been to just blow us all away, they wouldn't have bothered with the whole trap-us-between-two-trucks thing.
There had to be a way out. Quite honestly, I was more comfortable with the idea of sprinting toward the woods and dodging bullets than surrendering.
Joe barked.
"We'll even let the dog go," Goblin promised, and the others chuckled. They sounded close.
Unfortunately, with the camper on its side, our methods of escape were limited. Climbing up through the windows on top was a sure way to get a shotgun blast through the skull. That left the broken front windshield and the rear window. The rear window had shattered in the fall but so much of our camping junk was piled in front of it there wasn't room to climb out.
At least, no room for anybody but Joe. Yet somehow I didn't see this particular pug as one that would perform Lassie services for our family.
"Are you sure we can't settle this through a bribe?" I asked, silently ushering Helen and the kids toward the front windshield. "We've got marshmallows."
"Sorry. Ogre might go for it, but not the rest of us."
I wondered who Ogre was. Probably the huge guy in the second truck.
"What if we toast them first?" I asked.
"I'm not here to perform a fuckin' comedy routine with you," Goblin said. "You've got ten seconds to come out here before things get really ugly. Nine ... eight ... seven..."
"My wife's leg is broken!" I said. "She can't move."
"...six ... five..."
"It's pinned under some suitcases! She can't go anywhere!" I moved over to the rear of the camper, where Roger was hurriedly moving our gear out of the way.
"...four ... three ... two..."
"I'm serious!"
"...one. Time's up. How about we toast those marshmallows for you?"
Seconds later, a bottle fell through the broken window on what was now the camper's ceiling. A bottle with burning cloth stuffed into the neck. The Molotov cocktail struck the wood paneling and burst into flames, separating me from my family and forcing Roger and I to squish against the rear of the camper.
As the camper filled with smoke, Joe rushed around the flames, barking loudly, to where Roger and I stood. I could barely see Helen on the other side, her arms wrapped tightly around Theresa and Kyle.
A second Molotov cocktail fell right where the first had landed. Believe it or not, I'd been in worse situations, but this one sucked pretty intensely.
I picked up the closest weapon: Kyle's Wiffle bat.
Roger found one of the fishing poles.
A third Molotov cocktail shattered against the wood, which kind of seemed like overkill by this point. The camper was so filled with smoke I couldn't see my wife and kids anymore, though I heard Helen coughing.
Joe squirmed underneath a blanket.
Obviously, we couldn't stay in the camper any longer. I crawled out through the rear window, coughing as well. Though my eyes burned and my vision was a bit blurry, the shotgun barrel two feet from my face was perfectly clear.
Roger followed me
. He immediately was faced with a shotgun barrel of his very own.
A woman held the shotgun pointed at me. She had dirty black hair cut short, and looked about forty. Her blue jeans had holes in the knees and she wore a white lab coat with a few dried bloodstains. Her ID badge identified her as "Witch."
Roger's new buddy, "Troll," was also in his forties. He wore shorts and a light blue T-shirt, which showed off dozens, maybe hundreds, of scars on his arms and legs. There were also four or five fresh cuts. A large knife with a serrated edge dangled from his belt, and he wore a rather nice tie that matched his shirt.
Smoke billowed from the overturned camper, and I couldn't see Helen, Kyle, and Theresa behind it.
"Look at this mess you made," said Goblin, gesturing toward the camper and damaged trucks as he walked over to us. "That was pretty damn stupid. I should have Troll cut you up for that."
Troll flashed me a rotten-toothed grin.
Helen stepped into view from behind the camper, staggering. She held Kyle's and Theresa's hands. The big guy (five hundred pounds, at least) I assumed was Ogre was behind them, along with a kid who looked about twenty.
"Oh, yeah, he could cut you up real nice," said Goblin. "Make you look as bad as he does. Do you have a special attachment to any of those fingers of yours? How about your nose?" He flicked my nose with his index finger. "Would you mind so terribly if he sliced off your nose?"
I didn't respond.
"What about the kids' noses? Would you like that?" He looked over at Theresa and Kyle, and then back at me. "They're yours, right? They sorta look like you. Let's just hope they grow up with better problem-solving skills."
Goblin didn't seem particularly worried about any other vehicles approaching, so clearly they'd blocked off the road. He also didn't seem concerned about Samantha's escape, which probably wasn't a good sign.
"Don't you have anything clever to say?" Goblin asked me. "You were pretty clever in the camper. You made the marshmallow comment, remember? Joking in the face of danger. Pretty brave. Say something clever now."
"A husband and wife were both fortune tellers who desperately needed money, so they decided to have a kid. Do you know why?"
Goblin frowned. "Why?"
"To make a little prophet."
Goblin stared at me.
"I made that up," I said.
