Captive in Terror Orchard

by Brian Bakos

"I never expected to see this gadget again," he says.

  "You've seen this before?"

  "Sure, I made it."

  What's going on here - did Rackenfauz invent every evil thing in the world?

  "There were poisonous snakes around my research station," the professor says. "I'd heard that pigs eat snakes, so I bought one and made this device to keep track of him. It worked fine for a while."

  "What happened to the pig?"

  "The snakes got him eventually."

  I can scarcely grasp what's going on here.

  "You mean ... this isn't some high-tech sort of thing?" I say.

  "How high-tech do you think it's got to be for a pig?"

  The Professor glances around the shed.

  "Give me that screwdriver over there, Billy."

  I get it for him fast. With a little twist, he opens the tracker. Then he digs in the screwdriver blade and pops out two little batteries.

  "There." He hands me the batteries. "It's dead as a doornail now."

  The little silver disks weigh down my hand like the finest diamonds.

  "Don't stick around, Billy," Rackenfauz says. "Good luck!"

  23: Decision

  I wander out into the night on feet that barely touch the ground. Everything is totally different now, as if somebody has erased the whole world while I was in the shed and then redrawn it with a magic pencil. I feel as if I've climbed out of a grave. A single thought fills my brain:

  I can leave!

  The air holds the sweet scent of freedom. The insect choir sings a victory hymn just for me, and a full moon bathes my escape route with incredible brightness. I make feverish calculations:

  Should I pack?

  No. My few miserable possessions are not worth entering the Grech mausoleum again. Besides, if I take all my stuff, Albert will know that I've run off. If I simply vanish, he might not be so sure. Maybe he'll think the Ponge have captured me. This could confuse him for a while.

  What about Cyndy?

  Well, she'll just have to get along as best she can without any help from a dirt ball like me. Too bad about her situation, but nobody is threatening to stick her in the ground!

  I've crossed the road by now and drifted to the raspberry patch. I am still not quite ready to take the final plunge. Then, from out of nowhere, Poochie runs up and nearly knocks me over.

  "You little dope! Where have you been?"

  He is doing his frantic, tail stump wagging routine, jumping on me, trying to lick my face. Then he starts barking.

  "Quiet down!"

  Poochie shuts up. The Devil Dog in the orchard does not make a sound, fortunately. He must be so well trained that he doesn't react to non-threats like Poochie.

  I look across the road to the dim upstairs window of the Ponge house. Cyndy is up there, feeling angry and superior. Dare an ignorant twerp like me gaze upon her exalted residence?

  I glance back at the Grech house of horrors. It waits for me, dark and ghastly - home of the worst people to ever walk the earth. Then I look toward the trees.

  Come to us, Billy, they murmur across the night, we have a nice comfortable spot for you!

  I can actually hear this drifting on the wind to my ears. Of all the horrifying things I've experienced lately, this is the worst. Terror starts me moving.

  "Let's get out of here, Poochie," I say.

  24: Night Flight

  I run south on Brazil Road with Poochie close behind and the free air whipping my face. My sneakers pock-pock on the pavement, along with the clack of Poochie's claws. A blazing liberation moon soars in the sky, throwing my shadow across the concrete. The shadow runs along beside me like an Olympic champion.

  My bare feet pound on golden sand. Surf washes over my ankles, and samba music urges me along. I run and run for a thousand miles down the gleaming Road to Brazil.

  A fearsome monster is pursuing me. Its jaws snap, and hatred burns in its silvery eyes. But with every stride, with every breath I pull into my burning lungs, the monster drops farther back. Then it disappears altogether, its frustrated wails fade into the night.

  Finally, I have to stop. My head is reeling like a carnival ride, I feel ready to collapse any second. All I can do is stand bent over, hands braced on my knees, and gasp for oxygen.

  "We did it!" I pant.

  Only we haven't really done it. I'm still in great danger until I can get out of this county, at least, if not the whole state. I know that logically, but I push the thought away into the darkest corners of my mind.

  The dog licks my face, but I don't mind. I suck in gigantic breaths, as if the entire atmosphere does not have enough oxygen for me. Every moment I stay here is a terrible waste of time. I have to roll!

  My breathing settles down, and fresh energy begins to surge through my body. I start walking, slowly at first, then faster - ten steps, a hundred, each one putting more space between me and Horror-ville, each one bringing me closer to the golden sand.

  By daylight I need to be as far beyond Gulp's territory as possible. I don't know how big the county is, but I do know that the state line is over a hundred miles from Bridgestock.

  "Let's pick it up, Pooch," I say.

  We take off again, this time at a more reasonable jog.

  Now that my opening burst of gladness and terror is behind me, second thoughts began to squirm in my mind.

  Should I have brought Cyndy along?

  ... No

  She wouldn't want to go with an ignorant dirt ball like me. And the Ponge would be after me, too, not just Albert and Judge Gulp. Besides, she's in the past now - forget about her and think only of escape.

  ... Well, maybe

  I could have at least asked her. How long would that have taken? But I'm sure she would have shot me down; she enjoys doing that.

  Car headlights appear in the north, and I duck behind a tree. Straining my eyes through the moonlight, I try to judge the approaching vehicle. I don't have a good feeling about it.

  The car is coming fast and angry. A hostile person is driving, someone who would have no sympathy for me. I let it pass and start jogging again. Several minutes later another car comes from the north, slow and cautious this time. Again I hide myself.

  I guess that a single, perhaps older, woman is driving. Maybe she has a young child with her. She'd be nervous on this isolated road and would have her cell phone handy. One look at me and she might call the police. For certain, she wouldn't stop to pick me up.

  What I need most is a ride. I'll never make the county line by daylight otherwise. And when Albert finds out I'm gone, what next? I've read the bloodhounds can follow you for incredible distances, no matter how careful you try to be. I must be leaving a scent trail as wide as a freeway behind me.

  I trot on for several more minutes. Another car zips by, heading the wrong direction, and I conceal myself again. The road begins to curve and rise sharply. My heart pounds like a jack hammer as it blasts my way uphill. Finally I reach the top, one step ahead of a coronary.

  "Look at that, Poochie!" I pant. "The whole universe is at our feet."

  An otherworldly landscape spreads below us, silvery and black, without any man made lights at all. Endless fields, trees, and night sky. A thick chorus of insect noises adds to the prehistoric effect. The dinosaurs would have heard insects like those.

  I feel like the only person on earth. No trees clutter my hilltop, just bare, open fields sprawling away from my outstretched arms. I look upwards. Where is that friendly alien spaceship that will carry me off to the Land of Wonders?

  Yes, Billy, you should have brought Cyndy along.

  A car appears from the north.

  It moves at a moderate speed, following the curve we've just pounded up. I have a really bad feeling about that car - as if it is being driven by the headless horseman. Then its reflective paint glints in the moonlight, and terror slugs me in the gut.

  Cops!

  I fling myself into the drainage ditch alongside
the road. Dampness penetrates my clothes, and sharp stubble pokes my skin. Tires hiss on the pavement, headlights jab ahead.

  The car is almost to my position when the stupid dog suddenly bolts out into the road. The car screeches to a halt and a door flies open. I burrow deeper into the wet grass and pray that nobody can see me. The stench of rotting vegetation nearly makes me gag.

  Footsteps approach on the road shoulder and the glare of a flashlight beam plays about. Even through my tightly shut eyes I see it stabbing for me.

  "Why are you looking over there?" a voice calls from the patrol car. "The dog ran off the other direction."

  "Dunno, I've got a hunch," another voice says, very close to me. "I think somebody might be out here."

  Boots crunch in the gravel and stop right above my hiding place. The flashlight probes like a stiletto. I press myself into the ground as time stops dead.

  A voice crackles over the patrol car radio. I can't make out the words. Then the deputy in the card yells:

  "There's a burglary in town!"

  The flashlight switches off, and footsteps hurry away. A door slams. The car does a U turn and roars away toward the north, lights flashing.

  I return from the dead and climb back out of the ditch. Bless that burglar, may all his thefts be happy ones!

  Poochie slinks back from across the road.

  "You idiot!"

  I raise my hand to smack him, but he looks so pitiful that I stop myself.

  "I should grind you into mongrel burger."

  Poochie licks my hand, and my anger fades.

  "Oh, all right ... but if you do that again, you're history, got it?"

  Poochie whines with pathetic gratitude.

  Then I see it coming - a big, light-colored old sedan going the exact speed limit. For some reason I can't explain, I feel drawn to it. I gulp hard to get rid of the lump in my throat and step into the road waving my arms. I seem to be moving on autopilot.

  This is it, Billy!

  The car swerves to avoid me and drives past. Then it stops. It sits rumbling, like some great beast under the moonlight.

  25: The Big Sedan

  I start to turn shaky, and my good feelings about the car blow away into the night air. I can see two heads through the back window; they appear to be male. Plus the driver, this means I'm outnumbered three to one - not including Poochie, and I sure can't count on him. I wish I had my steel pipe, or that knife Cyndy used to cut my heart out.

  I look across the open fields. It wouldn't take three fresh guys long to chase me down if I try to run. I move a few steps toward the car, stop. Poochie whines.

  "Should we risk it, boy?"

  Poochie says nothing. Of course not, he's just a dog. The car is really big, like a hearse or something. Dead people ride in cars like that. I screw up the last of my courage and move to the passenger side, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

  The electric window slithers open. I can't see much of the person behind the wheel or the two shadowy figures in the back seat.

  "What's up, kid?" the driver asks. "Was it you that chased off the Sheriff's car?"

  Is he trying to be nasty, or is this just a little joke? He doesn't sound mean, but he could be well camouflaged.

  "No, sir, it wasn't," I say.

  "Do you need a ride?" the driver asks.

  I hesitate. "Can I bring my dog?"

  "Sure, put him in back," the driver says.

  "Oh, great!" someone protests from the back seat. "Just what we need."

  "Don't worry, kid," the driver says. "There's plenty of room. Hop in."

  I open the passenger door. The dome light shows the driver to be a young guy with curly blond hair and glasses. He seems okay, like some college student on summer break - but aren't psychopathic killers often the most gentle looking people? The two guys in back are teenagers, also with blond hair. Maybe they're a whole family of psycho murderers.

  I watch my hand reach out and pull the seat forward. It seems to be acting on its own.

  "Get in, Poochie," I say.

  But the crazy dog just stands on the road whining softly.

  "Come on, boy," I say.

  Poochie barks a couple of times, then turns and starts trotting back the way we came. He stops a short distance away and looks toward me. Then, convinced that I'm not following, he continues on his way.

  I feel like crying.

  "Looks like your friend's not interested," the driver says. "Are you still coming?"

  He's giving me a choice. If the three of them wanted to hurt me, they could have grabbed me already - or maybe they're just biding their time.

  "Yeah," I say.

  I climb in. The car starts moving.

  Part Four: Breakout

  26: Ride into Uncertainty

  I am alone now, at the mercy of three strangers. I keep thinking of that Godfather movie when the guy in the back seat flips a cord around the front seat guy's neck and strangles him to death.

  Or else a quick bullet through the back of the skull, or ...

  "My name's Morton." The driver offers his hand. "And, please, don't call me 'Mortie.'"

  "You tell him, Uncle Mortie," one of the guys in back says.

  He and the other passenger start laughing, as if the world's funniest joke has just been told.

  "Ignore those two," Morton says. "What's your name, kid?"

  "Billy."

  "Where you off too, Billy?" Morton says.

  My fantasy slips out before I can stop it.

  "Brazil," I say.

  "Brazil!" The back seaters start laughing again.

  "Well, why not?" Morton says. "We're going no place in particular. Brazil is as good a destination as any."

  The passengers laugh even louder.

  "Cut that out, or I'll drop you two off right here," Morton says.

  More laughter and playful insults. I've never heard three guys entertain themselves so much over so little.

  "Sorry Billy," Morton says, "but it's not my fault that I'm their uncle. My sister is a lot older than me, and she had her kids early. You can see the disastrous outcome."

  More goofing off and bad jokes. I'm beginning to think this is a rolling comedy club. At least I'm feeling more comfortable and can get my mind off my troubles for a while. Morton is cool, and the nephews - Wesley and Tom - seem all right, too, even if totally childish.

  Then a can pops open in the back seat. I catch the familiar aroma of beer.

  "Hey, give me some of that," Tom says.

  Morton spins around.

  "Get rid of that beer!" he snaps. "I'm not getting busted again because of you two."

  He stops the car. Wesley gets out and carries the six pack to the trunk.

  "Let's drive off without him," Tom whispers.

  Morton ignores the suggestion.

  "This county is real tough on drinking and driving," he says. "It cost me three nights in jail to learn that, courtesy of Judge Gulp."

  I freeze at the mention of that horrible name.

  "Sorry, Uncle Morton," Tom says.

  "I'm lucky to have my license back," Morton says. "And now you two bozos want to mess things up for me?"

  Wesley gets back in, and the car starts moving. The happy atmosphere is gone for the time being. Morton flicks on the radio and channels the sound to the rear speakers. Classic rock flows over the nephews. Morton looks toward me.

  "You're running away from home, aren't you, Billy?" he says.

  I can see no reason to lie. "Yeah."

  "Won't your folks be worried?" Morton says. "Maybe you should call them, see if you can work things out."

  "I don't have any folks," I say. "Just a couple of so-called foster parents."

  "Oh ... things are pretty bad, huh?"

  "Morton, they're worse than you can imagine. I have to get out of the state."

  I don't want to talk further about my situation; I don't want Morton involved. He seems to pick up on this, and he doesn't ask
any more questions.

  We drive on for a while with just the radio sound. Then the banter and joking gradually starts again.

  I don't join in the fun. Various feelings are boiling in my mind - relief at my escape, joy at meeting friendly people, sadness at losing Poochie.

  And Cyndy. What do I feel about her? Now that she is out of my life and fading into the past, I shouldn't have to think about her at all, right? But I do.

  Why did she have to be so mean? The first time I met her she'd almost cut my head off, and she got worse from there. Even so, I should have at least said good-bye. But how could I do that? Maybe I should have helped her escape too, but how? She wouldn't have come anyway ... or would she?

  Now and then I notice Morton glancing over at me, trying to scope me out. He seems much older in the darkness. About two hours pass altogether.

  ***

  The car pulls over.

  "Here's the state line, Billy," Morton says. "I could get in serious trouble taking you across, so I'll just let you out here."

  "Fair enough," I say. "Thanks Morton."

  I start to get out.

  "Hold on a minute," Morton says. "See that 24-hour restaurant down the road?"

  "Yeah."

  "We're going to stop there. Now, if you should happen to show up and ask for a ride - I might just take you farther south. Deal?"

  "Deal!"

  "I'll leave the car door unlocked, so you can just slip in the back," Morton says.

  "Okay."

  I get out.

  "See you, Billy," Tom and Wesley say.

  27: At the Crossroads

  I stand by the side of the road watching Morton drive across the state line. The turn signal flashes at the restaurant parking lot entrance, and the car turns in. He parks in a dim corner, where I can sneak up unnoticed.

  I've done it! With one bold thrust I've escaped from my terror prison. The free state calls to me across the darkness, like the promised land. I know exactly how that runaway slave in Huckleberry Finn must have felt when he finally got away.

  I hash over my situation in my mind. It's unlikely that anyone is searching for me. Albert is still asleep, no doubt. He won't know that I'm onto his scheme, so, he won't think I'm a threat. He'll just write me off, say that I ran away - at least I hope so.

  And even if the authorities do pick me up, surely they won't send me back to the Grech, especially not from a different state. But I won't be so easy to catch. Hey, maybe I can get all the way to Brazil!