Before long, we make it onto the interstate, accelerating to match the speed of the surrounding motorists and blending in to traffic. I breathe a sigh of relief that our route to the on-ramp was unimpeded, but I also wonder whether we’re being shepherded into their hands.
Twenty-Two
As we speed eastward, the sun now in its afternoon descent at our backs, Beth talks gently with Maylynn, utilizing a level of empathy and gentleness that I’ve never seen from Beth. Apparently it works, because, despite the unfathomable trauma through which Maylynn has just emerged, she finds herself capable of speaking with Beth.
Naturally, Beth avoids the topic of her kidnap and abuse altogether, instead focusing on topics such as school and home life. Based on what I can hear and discern over the muffled roar of the asphalt passing underneath, she lives a fairly quiet life, but has a wild imagination.
Heartbreakingly, I find myself glad about that part; I’m sure she’ll be retreating to the most merciful depths of her imagination for years to come, an escape from what her reality has devolved into.
I like kids. Kids seem to like me, but I take anyone’s opinion of me with a grain of salt because most people don’t know that I slaughter people in my spare time.
I can never really tell at what age or under what conditions their innocence vanishes, but inevitably, they are reached by the evils and cruelties of the world, sharpening sizeable portions of their hearts to bitter blades, which in turn do the same to others.
Most people elect to hide these parts of themselves; certainly their painful past should not be the image that people have of them. But some decide, instead, to continue to sharpen and hone the blade, the better for stabbing and slashing.
Kids are safe. For the most part, their hearts are soft, quick to love. But, unfortunately, that’s also the kind of heart that is simultaneously malleable and breakable. And, as for Maylynn, her heart will have been distorted into a nearly unrecognizable shape and substance.
“That red truck has been behind us for a while,” Todd says, quietly enough that Maylynn doesn’t hear.
I don’t dare turn my head to look, and none of the mirrors offer my seat a decent angle from which to observe them. I see Todd trying to catch Beth’s eyes in the rearview mirror, then give it a meaningful glance.
Todd changes lanes.
The truck changes lanes with us.
While there are a couple of other cars on the road, it’s not enough traffic that Todd can shake off our pursuers with some clever maneuvering. And even if there were, it would be a questionable decision, having the potential collateral effect of striking alarm into Maylynn. By the time we get out of the city and into a more open road, it will have turned into a two-lane, disallowing tricky driving anyway.
I hope Todd was right about having enough gas to make it back to Riverdell; if we end up having to stop somewhere, consequences may include a gunfight, and I hate shooting people. It’s so impersonal.
Every minute or so, Todd looks at the rearview mirror, then to me, accompanied by a concerned raise of the eyebrows, confirming that the red truck is still happily on our tail. But, as of right now, there’s next to nothing that we can do about it. If we call the police, it tips off whatever other forces Keroth has between us and Riverdell. If we stop for gas, surely the truck will follow us and a confrontation will occur, putting all of us, especially Maylynn, in danger.
As of now, our best option is to head straight to Riverdell and pray that we don’t run out of gas before we arrive. Todd seems to have thought of these conditions as well, for he doesn’t even glance at the handful of exits that we pass on our journey. Instead, his gaze alternates regularly between the road and the rearview mirror, intermittently glancing at me to communicate that we still might be fucked.
After what seems like days (but is actually only another hour and a half), we approach the only exit to Riverdell, red truck still apparently on our collective ass. Calmly, Todd turns on his turn signal and veers into the modest off-ramp.
The light at the bottom is green, allowing us to turn left onto the road into town. Todd looks hopefully at his mirror, but the hope in his face is quickly replaced by the look worn by a gambling addict after scratching a mismatched third number of a scratch-and-win card after the first two were so promising.
“Shit,” he says. This time, his volume doesn’t have the benefit of the road’s rumbling underneath to mask it. Maylynn’s attention is roused. “Any ideas?”
“Keroth has to know by now that we’re headed to town. Do you think he’s busy enough with work that we’ll be able to sneak in?” I doubt it. Every time I think we’ve stretched Keroth’s resources to their limit, they seem to multiply and expand more, like a new strain of the flu that returns with a mad vengeance.
“Probably not,” Todd says. “He’s probably got his guys all over the damn town. I don’t know what we’re going to do. Are we in a better position here than we were in Portland?”
“Well, at least we know Riverdell inside and out. Keroth and his guys are all from the city. They won’t know these roads anywhere near as well as we do.” While this is true, it doesn’t offer much comfort unless we’re on foot, and on foot is a position that’s less than ideal right now.
As though the universe is punishing me for hosting the thought, the engine suddenly ceases, leaving the car’s momentum to carry it. As luck has it, we’re on a decline, so we have slightly more time to come up with a plan than we would have had on a level road or an incline.
Now there’s genuine panic in Todd’s eyes. I no longer care about whether they see me see them; I look around to see the big red truck roar up behind us.
“Remy,” Todd says in an almost-whisper.
I look at him.
“Remy, your running and jumping stuff … have you ever done that with someone else?”
I’m terrified. Even without a passenger, I’m only moderately confident that I can both outrun and outmaneuver a couple of pursuers. Last night, I had the visually oppressive rain coupled with the darkness to maximize my effectiveness. Now, the sun is still out, albeit low in the sky, in its dismal winter course. I’m no longer invisible, and certainly, neither is Maylynn.
“I don’t know about that, Todd. I don’t know. That’s a tall order. I’m still sore from my run last night, and I would be all off balance.”
“Right,” says Todd. “But what other options do we have?” He’s breathing harder, clearly perceptive to the impending doom crushing in on us in the form of a bright red truck.
The road levels out and Todd pulls to the shoulder as the last of our momentum is spent. As he puts the vehicle into park, he looks at me. His eyes are pleading, and have been glazed by a layer of tears.
I nod at him. I turn back and nod at Beth, who nods back. As quickly as I can manage, I kick the door open and open Beth’s. She’s ready; she has tiny Maylynn in her arms and, using her hips to shift her weight, transfers her to me.
“Do you trust me?” I ask the child.
She pauses for a precious second and nods, her expression filling with terror once more after a short reprieve.
I pull her to my chest and whisper, “Hang on as tightly as you’ve ever held anything before. Got it?” She nods, her forehead rubbing against my collarbone.
The truck’s doors open and it expels a man and a woman who, frankly, look exactly like the stereotype henchman in a bad ’80s movie. But I don’t have time to dwell on that.
In our time slowing down, I took a second to assess where we were and what was around. Now, clinging Maylynn to myself, and mentally drawing a route that I can accomplish with my cargo, I bolt.
At this moment in time, I have two desperate hopes: First, that I am able to get Maylynn to safety. Second, that both the man and the woman from the truck follow me, leaving Beth and Todd a clean path for a getaway. In order for this endeavor to have a positive outcome, both of these conditions must be met. If they follow me and catch up, both Maylynn and I are in dan
ger. If they manage to shoot me, I go down, Maylynn likely gets hurt and killed, be it now or later on. If Maylynn gets killed, god forbid, they call the cops and tell them that I’m toting the corpse of a child from Portland around, and suddenly I’m the one being framed for murder and potentially child pornography.
I consider the idea that I could have tried to divert their attention by running on my own, but realize quickly that they’re probably only running after me because they saw that I have Maylynn.
Having the girl with me isn’t quite as big as a detriment to my speed as I thought it might be (due in large part, I’m sure, to the malnourishment), but in a straight shot, I still don’t think I can outrun these two. I need to maneuver. My intimate knowledge of the town and its geography’s various nuances is my most effective tool at the moment.
My plan is simple, on the surface: run until I can hide effectively, wait a while, then run some more. I assess that, most likely, the bulk of Keroth’s task force of perversion is in Portland. We brought a couple of tagalongs with us, but Riverdell won’t be crawling with his corruption nearly as much as the city was. That being the case, it should be, to some degree, easy to hide somewhere until I can get appropriate backup. Not to mention the fact that, as I know pretty much everyone here, unfamiliar faces will stand out to me, and I’ll be able to avoid them effectively. That’s not to say that the faces with which I’m familiar are immune to the corruptive tendrils that have infiltrated the town, but in any case, it should at least assist in my aversion to the incoming onslaught of pawns.
And there’s one more beautiful thing about being back in Riverdell: I don’t necessarily have to call the police station. I can simply call one of my boys in blue to come help me out. Cutting out the middle man will be essential, as the middle man may be prone to alerting Keroth. I need to pick carefully which officer I call, certainly, but that’s a surmountable obstacle.
Heavy yet rhythmic thuds mark my progress. I run south from the car, cutting through a small field of long grass to where a nearby creek cuts into the northern outskirts of town. I hear shouts behind me, followed by the kshh-kshh of my followers making their own way through the tall, wet grass. Maylynn clings ever tightly to me, encouraging me to pick up speed, so I do.
The banks of the creek are easy enough to navigate, particularly for someone who’s used to it.
“Hold on extra tight for a minute,” I say. I feel Maylynn’s grip around me tighten further, allowing me to use one of my hands to swing on low-hanging tree branches. Not that I’m using them to clear large gaps—I’m no Tarzan—just so much that the steep banks of the creek are substantially easier to navigate, granting a swift passage free of stumbling and second-guessing.
If I recall correctly, there’s a series of mini waterfalls ahead, and the path between here and there winds and twists enough that I may be able to get out of eyesight of the man and woman for long enough to hide in a small cave behind one of the waterfalls. It offers maybe four vertical feet of cover, but augmented by the sheet of water in front of it and the krrr of the waterfall, it should be sufficient to hide. If I’m lucky, maybe I can even get cell service in there.
The path that I’ve chosen is muddy—no good. I need to avoid leaving footprints.
With that goal in mind, I use a fallen log to cross to the opposite side, pausing for half a second afterward to make sure that I didn’t track mud onto it, thus rendering the maneuver pointless. It’s clean.
I continue down the east side of the creek; it’s not as easy of a path, but it’s mostly rock and, being out of the line of sight of Thing One and Thing Two, I need to capitalize on the absence of their gaze while I have it, and ditch the trail that I’ve been leaving thus far.
Before long, my lungs are paying for this endeavor. Every breath is a cold, sharp reminder of the season, and I sense that I’ll be cramping up shortly. Perhaps carrying Maylynn is as cumbersome as I thought it might be.
At last, I see the small collection of brooklets that mark the location of my personal Bat Cave. I look back to make sure that we can’t be seen, and indeed we are not.
This area is a popular place for kids and teenagers to swim in the summer and, apparently, a popular place to drink and smoke in other seasons; the muddy banks opposite me are riddled with beer cans and cigarette butts that may have threatened to trip me, had I not changed up my course. This was my go-to runaway spot whenever, as a child, I had both the courage and the nerve to “run away.” I’d load a backpack with whatever food there was in the pantry, and set out, with plans to make a home of the little cave behind the waterfall. I saw myself with a dog or some sort of predatory animal to aid in the acquisition of food, not unlike the main character in Jean Craighead George’s My Side of the Mountain. In the end, I’d either give up or succumb to an obligatory urge to go home and oversee the family. Not that my presence was in any way beneficial to the goings-on of the Thorn household, but I felt better when I could confirm that my sister and mother were alive. Some of the worst beatings of my life came as a result of my running away. I figure that it’s because it was one of the few things I could do to instill real, writhing fear in my father.
Pop!
Fuck. No. Not this. Not Beth. Not Todd. No. NO.
Pop pop! Those ones sound a bit different. Those ones were Beth’s. I take the subsequent absence of gunfire as hopeful reassurance that Beth hit and debilitated (or killed) her target. Or targets. She is an excellent shot, after all.
With a small hop over one last ledge, I land in maybe an inch of water, then backtrack a few steps toward the waterfall and slip into (and through) it. I’m glad I never decided to make this my permanent residence; the square footage is rather unaccommodating.
Once inside, I loosen my grip on Maylynn, then let her get her feet underneath her to stand in front of me.
“You doing okay?” I ask.
She nods, at odds with her appearance. Still, the girl’s spirit is truly unbreakable.
“We’re going to wait here for a few minutes,” I say. Though I’m certain that we won’t be heard, I hush my voice anyway, to emphasize the ‘hiding’ part of the situation. “Soon, I’ll call for some help. Okay?”
Maylynn nods again. Whether because of fear or the cold (or a combination of the two), she’s shaking. My heart pangs in empathy.
I listen hard for the sound of footsteps or voices, but I hear nothing. The sound of the cascade obscures and distorts, the auditory version of the shadows that haunt my dad’s house at night. After a few minutes, however, I finally hear them, plit-plit-plitting down the muddy banks, their urban feet puzzling slowly through this thoroughly non-urban terrain.
I hear them call to each other, but I don’t understand the words they’re saying. The meaning behind them, however, is apparent: Where the fuck did he go?
Whether they actually linger near our hiding spot or I simply perceive it that way is unclear, but whatever fumes my adrenaline glands are running on at this point pump into gear and I wonder whether I’ll have to fight. I sure hope not; I can fight, but multiple assailants present more of a challenge than one might expect, not to mention making sure that Maylynn is safe throughout the encounter.
But at last, they move on. I suppose that, the little evidence I left for them to follow having all but disappeared, they continued down the stream, being the most accessible route to take. Even so, prudence suggests that we wait here for a minute or two longer, until the heat of their passing dissipates.
I remove my jacket and wrap Maylynn in it to help ward off the cold. We’re both pretty wet from passing under the waterfall, and I hope that my jacket, now slightly more than damp, will do more good than harm in the pursuit of keeping her warm.
I pull out my phone, but it’s no good; it has succumbed to the moisture of our endeavor, and will not turn on. I sense that, this time, it will not make a full recovery.
“Hang in there,” I say. “Just a little bit longer.” In reality, I haven’t formulated a plan b
eyond this point, but two options are viable in my mind: I can head to Todd’s place, not far from where we are, or to the center of town, maybe a mile away, to the police station.
I decide on both: I’ll catch my breath, then run us to Todd’s place. Assuming I get there without detection, I’ll slip inside and we can warm up. If any obstacles arise on the way there, I’ll reroute and go to the station, instead. It will also be helpful if I can catch the eye of a cop, my golden ticket to the station without putting my lungs (or the rest of my body, really) in danger. The inherent problem therein is the uncertainty about who’s playing for which team.
We rest a minute or two longer than I had planned, procrastinating the blitz of anxiety and exhaustion that I’m about to bring upon myself, and then we’re off. We burst through the waterfall (I cringe at the curtain of cold) and I hop back up to the rocky but grassy bank that I took on the way down. My shoes are full of water, and I hope to Orion that Todd has a spare pair of shoes at his house.
Keeping track of where I am from the riverbank proves more difficult than I anticipated; I’ll ascend the bank on the east side, which will slope much more gently just after two more bridges overhead. Or was it three? And would that spit me out near Todd’s house or closer to Main Street?
I’ll just have to climb the bank a bit every now and then to get my bearings. I don’t like the idea of exposing myself so often, but it’s a necessary measure to assure that our path stays true.
Every few steps, I find myself worrying about Beth and Todd, but that’s an emotional avenue that I can’t afford to explore right now; all of my focus must singularly lie on whichever destination I end up being most reasonably able to pursue.
Slosh, plat, slosh, plat, thud, thud, thud, plat. Each step, increasingly difficult as I grow increasingly exhausted, pulls me that much closer to my goal. I remind myself that the goons chasing me (wherever they are) are likely more rested, and also not carrying a child.
I feel my muscles beginning to burn, pleading with me to stop, but I know that should I comply, they will seize and cool and tire, and I’ll be useless. I must continue until I’m safe. Until Maylynn is safe.
[Darkthorn 01.0] Pond Scum Page 18