by David Wayne
She yelled back, “Use the pogo stick growing in your pants and bounce over to it.”
Chapter 24
I awoke the next morning covered in mosquito bites and wet dew, with a sore back from sleeping on the ground. I hadn’t made it back inside my tent last night. I embraced a nasty lover, a god-awful hangover in all its glory—pounding head, horrendous cotton mouth, and gut-wrenching dry heaves. The thought of an all-day hike seemed an insurmountable task; my world was spinning like a Ferris wheel. Even worse was the thought of facing Sister, as last night’s events washed over me. What had I done?
As if on cue, she appeared from the woods. “Let’s go, Mr. Ryker. You've already slept through breakfast. I’m leaving.”
We hiked all day, and she was as silent as a broken stereo. At lunch, she sat away from me, eating and glaring in silence. By four o’clock, I was on my death bed. We’d hiked hard, her pace relentless. She was on a quest to bust my balls—and she’d succeeded. I knew I deserved it. I had pondered one simple question all day: How do I apologize to her? But the answer proved elusive. I felt like a complete and utter idiot, that something as simple as an apology would be so perplexing. Still, I was clueless how to fix my blunder, my major, major blunder. Just as I was about to pass out from the heat and grueling pace, she stopped, spun around, and threw her gear on the ground. She sat down on a fallen tree trunk.
“Mr. Ryker, I’ve waited all day, in vain, for you to apologize. I’m sure you’ve been struggling on how best to accomplish such a complex task. So, I suppose I shall have to teach you. Now, sit down, and get to it.” It was a demand.
I walked toward where she was sitting, but she held up her hand. “Not next to me, if you don’t mind. Sit over there,” she said, pointing to a patch of grass. “Now go ahead and apologize.” She was speaking to me as if scolding a very naughty child. Her squinted eyes said, bad boy, very bad boy. “Begin, Mr. Ryker,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Well, you see, Sister, it’s like this here…”
“Start again, Mr. Ryker, from the top.”
“A wise woman once told me, when you’re drunk, you’re always forgiven and—”
She held up a hand, shaking her head. “Nope. Again.”
“Last night should never have happened. I’m sorry.” Straightforward and to the point. Boom! I smacked it over the fence. Like a puppy, I waited for my 'atta boy.
“That was awful. Is that your first apology ever?” She let out a long sigh, mocking me, I was sure. I said nothing—I was a bad boy.
“Let me do it for you,” she said in her now-now voice. “Sister, I want—”
“No, wait,” I broke in. I stood up, got hangover dizzy, and then regained my balance. I sat down next to her. She scooted away. I scooted next to her and grabbed her hand. If she moved another inch, she would fall off the end and onto her bum.
“Sister, I’m sorry, I truly am. I was very rude last night—”
“And crass,” she added.
“—and crass,” I agreed. “It’s no excuse, but I got intoxicated—”
“You were a drunken lout,” she broke in.
“—and I was a drunken lout. It’s just, well, talking about those things—”
“Feelings,” she offered.
“—about feelings, is hard for me. I got uncomfortable—”
“And made a total ass of myself.”
“—and yes, I made a total ass of myself. Will you forgive me?” I felt deflated.
She was quiet for what seemed an eternity. Then she turned sideways and gave me the saddest look. “Max, you have spent your entire life saving others. Lord knows, you’ve saved mine several times already. At great risk, a crazy risk, to your own. I can never repay you for that selflessness. But now it’s time to save your own life, while there’s still time. You have a hole in you, a void that can still be healed. Please, will you try to fix yourself? I can help. It’s my job.”
I looked away. I didn’t think the demons raging inside me could ever be tamed or controlled. I was the product of some really bad foo-foo, and you can’t repair shattered glass. “I’ll try, Sister. That’s all I can promise.” That was as honest as I could be, and she seemed to accept and respect that.
“Fine, we’ll get to work on it immediately. As repentance, you’ll take over saying grace before we eat,” she said.
“I will?”
“Did I hear a question mark at the end of that?”
I shook my head. “But you don’t mean all three, right?”
She frowned. “Why don’t you take a nap, Max. You look like hell warmed over.”
I started to correct her use of a cuss word, but I saw the slight flicker of amusement in her eyes. I decided to take the high road. I got my sleeping bag, made a pillow out of it, and shut my eyes. “Watch your mouth, Sister,” I heard myself say as I drifted off to a sleep I desperately needed. The last thing I heard was her mischievous laugh.
A blasting noise, like someone smashing pans together next to my ears, woke me up in a flash. Susan was also napping, and I noticed the low-burning campfire she had apparently started.
“Sister, Sister, wake up,” I said urgently, shaking her. She popped right up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s coming."
Chapter 25
“What? Who’s coming?” she said.
“I don’t know but they’re moving fast, on dirt bikes or quads. Let’s get the fire out and move.”
She appeared to be straining hard to hear, and then finally it registered. “I hear something far off. What makes you think it’s heading our way?”
“Because it’s getting louder, that means it’s getting closer,” I said, stamping out the small fire. I poured a canteen of water on it and then pushed loose dirt over the smoldering aftermath.
“How could you possibly have heard that in your sleep? I can barely hear it now,” she said, confused.
“I dunno exactly. My brain picked it up and starting pushing me into the zone. Now, we’ve got to move,” I said, picking up my backpack. “Hurry, do the same.”
“What’s the zone?” she asked.
“No time to explain.” I was looking around, trying to decide what to do. The east path led to the lake. About twenty feet down the trail from where we were resting was a huge boulder formation, at least fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep. I decided we should hide behind it. I grabbed her hand and made a dash for cover. I could hear the motors very clearly now. They couldn’t be more than a few minutes away. That’s when I noticed the deep footprints we’d left, like a sign on the trail pointing directly to us—Psst, they went this way!
I searched around and found a bushy branch and used it to wipe our prints away. We inched farther behind the moss-covered stones, feeling the dampness of the rock through our clothes as we hugged tight to them. Our visitors, on what I now recognized as dirt bikes, had arrived—and killed their engines.
“Looks like someone’s been here, Mikey,” a voice said, sounding about twenty years old.
“Yeah, sure as hell looks like it,” another voice answered. After a brief pause, the same mouth said, “and it ain’t been long. Thirty minutes max, by the looks of this fire.” I silently cursed myself for not taking a little more time to extinguish our napping hearth.
I could hear them walking down the path, directly toward us, pausing just at the outer edge of our hiding spot. They would have to walk around the rocks to see us, and if they did, they’d meet Mr. .357, who was a very unfriendly sort.
The second voice said, “There’s two of 'em and ones a chickie. The other's either a dude or a big girl, but my bet's on a dude.” He sounded confident of his assessment.
“I got dibs on the chick,” the other said, laughing.
“Shut up, fool. Now go find Phil and Joey, and meet me down at the lake. They can’t be far. I’ll scout with my binoculars.”
“Fifteen minutes,” the voice answered, and ran back up the trail.
The other guy stayed put for a minute. Was he going to snoop around the boulders? After a few more seconds, I could hear him walking back up the path. Both bikes were cranked up.
“What are we going to do?” the sister asked.
“We’re going to be very proactive.”
“How?”
“Be quiet and stay back.” I was already in the zone, and I didn’t talk when I was zoning; I acted. I had a brief window, and I wasn’t going to miss it. I grabbed a hefty stick and slid around the formation, stopping just at the outer edge between the stone and path. I could hear him coming, the motorcycle humming low as he eased onto the downward slope of the trail. I couldn’t see the guy, but I could sense him. I knew exactly where he was relative to my position. Everything was moving in slow-mo. I cocked back and got ready to slam a home run.
Whack!
Just as he was perpendicular to the outer edge of the rock, I Babe Ruth’ed him, slamming the branch at full force. It smashed hard into the face mask of his helmet. He flew off the back. The bike zigzagged another fifteen feet, hit a tree, and fell over. The motor kept running, the back wheel spinning wildly, spitting dirt and mud all over the place.
I grabbed the sister, jumped on the bike, and hightailed it toward the lake.
“Is he hurt badly?” she yelled into my ear, holding on tightly around my waist. The bike was wobbling as I tried to get my balance.
I turned slightly to the side, keeping my eyes on the trail. “Not as bad as I wished. He had a helmet on.”
“Should we go back and help him?”
“We probably should. The one guy has already called dibs on you, and we males always honor that.”
She punched me lightly in the ribs, causing me to swerve and almost lose our balance. I’d never ridden a dirt bike on trails before, a road bike yes, but never a trail rig, so I was a little apprehensive. The path was bumpy and steep, causing me to accelerate faster than I intended.
“Have you ever ridden motocross before?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
“All the time. I grew up on them,” I answered.
She hugged me tighter.
I was playing it out in my mind; I had previously studied my map, so I knew the lake and surrounding terrain. We would egress to the lake at about the six o’clock position, and there was a rise at the one o’clock position—a manmade mass, built for the railroad tracks. We needed a higher altitude for an advantage. We reached that point within a few minutes, and the sister screamed when I abruptly veered right and scaled the steep incline. I hit the accelerator hard, not sure how much juice the bike needed to tote our weight up the steep hill. When we hit the crescent, we were going too fast. The bike jumped into the air, doing a massive wheelie before dumping us over backward—knocking us squarely on our asses. I ran over and hit the kill switch, and the bike went to sleep.
“What in God’s name are you doing? You almost killed us,” she screamed, fear and terror on her face.
I was zoning and waved her down behind the dirt heap. I used my field glasses to establish the range to the mouth of the trail. The distance was seventy-five yards. I got my rifle and adjusted the scope to that distance.
“What are you doing? You can’t shoot those kids. Put that rifle down this minute. We can hide here. We’ll wait for them to pass by. I’ll not be part of murder, and I’ll not budge on that point.” She had clumps of dirt on her face, reminding me of an army commando in a movie. I almost laughed.
I heard the motorcycles and returned to the task at hand. They were pursuing us, which made them an enemy combatant in my book. Left up to me, I would take the easiest, safest route—pick each of them off, starting at the back. Then I’d move to the middle guy, and finally to the lead guy. They would never know they’d gotten dead. Because of the sister, however, I had to dump the smart approach and figure out a plan B.
“To accommodate you, I’m going to modify my plan and try to let those punks live. I’m going to shoot out the front tire of the lead motorcycle and see what they do. If they turn around, then I’ll let them go. If they continue after us, I’ll handle it my way. Deal?” She hesitated. “That wasn’t really a question, Sister. I’m trying to be nice, and they’re getting close. Are we together on this?” I was getting tense and frustrated.
Reluctantly, she agreed, but I’d already made that decision and had the lead guy squarely in my sights. I watched as three motorcycles emerged from the woods, zipping quickly down the path toward the water. They were moving fast. When the lead bike reached the four o’clock position, I pulled the trigger and watched his front tire explode. He tried to maintain control, but the bike flipped over, tossing him roughly to the ground. He rolled partially into the lake.
His companions stopped immediately, jumping off their scooters to check on their friend. Stupid punks, I thought, I could pick you off so easily, standing there in a circle-jerk out in the open. I prepared myself to do just that. The sister was holding tightly to my shirt, her way of reminding me of our deal. I took a deep breath and sighed.
I watched them in my scope, apparently discussing their options. A gunman had the high ground, and they were standing in the wide-open like sitting ducks. They should cut bait and run. After some argument, the boys jumped on their bikes and headed back west. A very smart life move on their part.
Chapter 26
By eleven o’clock the next morning, the motorcycle ran out of gas. I was pissed. We could have had all their gas, and I wouldn’t be walking on blistered feet. Sister was walking on sunshine.
“Don’t you feel great, Max, having saved those kids and achieving your objective at the same time? I mean, we got safely away, and nobody died. Isn’t that fantastic? I’m so proud of you.” She smiled at me brightly.
“Yeah, I’ve really grown,” I mumbled, thinking my feet hurt like hell, and how I’d prefer zipping through the woods on a motor scooter.
“Oh, come on. You’re a good man, Max. You have goodness in you—let it out, free it from its cage. Embrace your loving side, and life will be so much better for you.” She beamed like a proud mother hen.
I hated it when she looked at me that way. I didn’t want to embrace anything; I wasn’t trying to grow—I was trying to survive. It was just she was so bright and sunny and cuddly… Whoa… not cuddly, wrong word… I changed my thought pattern. “Sister, I like this venison jerky better than the rabbit, don’t you?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she took on a sheepish look. She was trying to read me. I looked away, hoping to block whatever telepathy she had. I didn’t want her reading those last thoughts. It was a stupid little slip of the tongue. My brain wasn’t working; I was just tired and my feet hurt.
We plodded along steadily throughout the day, encountering several creeks and small ponds. We were approaching an area of Alabama that was watery, and we would need to cross a major river soon.
My feet had gotten worse, and after dinner, to my dismay, I had to address it. “Sister, I hate to ask, but I’m in a bit of a jam. If you don’t mind—”
“Would you just spit it out, Max? Why is it so hard for you to ask for help? Here, I’ll show you how to do it. Sister, I can barely walk. Could you please look at my feet? See how easy that is? It’s just a question, nothing more.”
She was scolding me again, yelling at Mr. Fuck-up. I bit my tongue. My feet felt like they were exploding. “Thank you, Sister,” I replied nicely, removing my shoes and stifling a scream. I would have verbally slapped her back, but I didn’t want her to squeeze my gnarled paws in retaliation. She could be spiteful when she wanted to be.
“You’ll not be walking on these puppies for at least two days, Mr. Ryker. They’re toast,” she said, shaking her head. “We might as well regroup a bit and utilize the time wisely.”
“No, wait just one second here—”
“Nonsense, they’re fried. You won’t be able to walk in the morning. Guarantee it. We’ll soak them good tonight, put more salve on, and then doctor them for a coupl
e days. Then we’ll be on our way. Early tomorrow, I’ll go hunting, spend some extra time, and hopefully bag something big. That way, we can smoke a bunch of jerky. We need a nest egg of food anyway. We’re almost going day by day. Eventually, to coin your phrase, we’ll be caught with our pants down and have nothing to eat.”
We were back on that one-way road I called Sister Street. If I’d said pants down, I was vulgar and crude, turning everything into sex. If she said it, however, she was simply coining a phrase. Whatever. My feet hurt so badly I wasn’t going to fight. I was helpless, not a feeling I’m accustomed to. I was unhappy about losing two days, but it couldn’t be helped. My walkers were a pulpy, bloody mess—covered in large, water-filled bubbles.
“Max, how far away is the army base? When do you think we’ll get there?”
“Oh, within a week… Wait a minute. How’d you know about Anniston?”
“You told me during one of your drunken stupors. Plus, I’ve studied your maps,” she said, shrugging.
“What? When did you invade my personal space?”
“Usually when you’re sleeping in or taking a poop.”
The next thought felt like a sharp knife to the gut. “What about the log?” I asked, taking a deep breath.
“That, too. How else would I know what’s going on? I’m traveling with Max Ryker, Mr. No Communication. No need to look so sheepish. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I knew about the secret crush before I read about it.”
“You did?”
“Yes, it’s happened millions of times before.”
“What? How could—”
“Men come to the parish, Max. I’m a woman as well as a nun,” she said, raising her eyebrows at me.
“But don’t you get in trouble?”
She patted my arm. “Ease up. I won’t get in trouble because you’ve developed a schoolboy crush on me,” she said.
I pulled my arm away. “What? We’re talking about your crush on me. That’s what I was writing about in the log,” I said. “I’m surprised they didn’t kick you out. You’re sneaky and tricky and—”
