Compound Fracture

by Franklin Horton

  She struggled to right herself but her head was lower than her legs. It was like trying to do a sit-up on an incline bench. She tried to channel her pain to rage, digging deep to tap the well of contempt she was feeling for this young man. Before she could get herself straightened out, Jeff scrambled down beside her and hooked a forearm beneath her bicep. He started dragging, pulling her over sharp briars, broken branches, and jagged rocks. She screamed and protested but it had no effect.

  “Quit screaming,” Jeff said, dumping her to the ground and lashing out with his foot.

  The kick caught her in the hip, blinding her with pain. She shut up then, biting her lip, and visualizing what she was going to do to Jeff when she turned the tables on him. Then she remembered the neck knife she’d stashed when she had one hand free. Not only had she forgotten about it in her pain and rage, she’d never wanted to kill him this badly until now. At this moment, she would do it without a second’s hesitation if she got the chance.

  The whine of the engine was getting closer. Jeff struggled to wrap Sonyea’s leash around a downed tree then abandoned the effort. Any knot he could tie, she could untie. He resorted to intimidation instead. “You move and I’ll kill you!”

  She didn’t really think he would but she glared back venomously.

  Jeff scrambled toward the bank they’d just come down, leaping and stumbling over the debris he’d dragged her through. He flattened himself against the bank where he could peer over the edge and watch for the approaching vehicle. She was probably a dozen feet from him now, watching him as he watched for Robert.

  Then the ATV was upon then, the sound was no longer buffered by the forest. Sonyea couldn’t see it from her position but knew it would soon be past them. As fast as the sound rose, it would disappear, leaving her in the hands of this jerk. She could almost sense Robert up there, searching for her, watching for any clues along the road, any sign she was alive. She tried to imagine some way she might flag him down or catch his attention but she was too far below his line of sight. She wasn’t even sure she could make it to her feet the way everything hurt.

  Through eyes blurry with tears of pain and frustration, she saw Jeff flatten himself against a boulder. If this was Robert, he intended to shoot him. The AR was pressed against his shoulder, his eye dropped to sight through the red dot optic. She didn’t know if he turned it on, or if he even knew how. She couldn’t say if that would impact his ability to hit a target at this close range. He apparently understood the safety because she saw him look for it, then fumble to put it in the FIRE position.

  Sonyea used the only thing she had at her disposal. She sucked in a deep breath and released a bloodcurdling scream, praying that Robert would hear it over the sound of his engine.

  He did, but it was too late.

  At the same moment Robert heard the scream, a round from the AR ripped through the Plexiglas windshield and sliced through the side of his bicep. He flinched and cried out at the searing pain. A second round punched through the windshield and impacted his chest plate. The round splattered and sent bullet fragments spraying into the underside of his face.

  Robert craned his head, looking for his attacker between the spiderweb of shattered plastic. He couldn’t see anything.

  Then he caught movement in the weeds at the side of the road. In a flash, it registered that the barrel of a weapon was being pointed at him at nearly point-blank range. Not through the windshield this time but aimed through the door opening. He caught a glimpse of a familiar face above that rifle barrel. It was Jeff.

  Out of a reflex motivated by pure self-preservation, Robert stomped the gas pedal at the same time a burst of flaming gases erupted from the short barrel. There was the whine of a bullet veering off the steel roll cage and Robert felt like a hot blade had been jammed into his shoulder. At the same time, the Razer accelerated beyond Robert’s ability to steer it with his injured arm and beyond his ability to see through the damaged windshield. He lost control, hitting a high bank to the right of the road. A tire caught a rock and the vehicle flipped, tumbling several times before dropping off the opposite shoulder of the road.

  Sonyea screamed again when she saw the vehicle tumbling in the distance. Unrestrained, Robert was flopping around like a ragdoll as the heavy vehicle tried to shake him free. She got to her feet, climbing toward Jeff, toward the road. She had to get to Robert.

  Jeff seemed stunned as she climbed toward him, as if it was only now occurring to him that he may have killed another human being for the first time. Sonyea was almost to him when he spun on her. “Stay here!”

  She hesitated, momentarily frozen by the rage in his expression, a vitriol she’d never seen in him even at his worst. He mistook her pause as compliance and scrambled up the bank away from her. Sonyea was far from compliant. All she saw was a man she hated crawling away to kill her friend. She dropped her cuffed hands to the pouch where she’d concealed her knife and dug it free. She lunged for Jeff, clutching the knife in both hands, determined to plunge it into the only thing she could reach.

  He screamed when she sank the blade into the thickest part of his calf and tore downward. He jerked away, swatting at the knife reflexively, like someone stung by a bee and batting blindly at the injury. He twisted his body and stared at the offending blade, somehow mustering the strength to grip the handle of the knife. When his hand touched it he roared and yanked it free. He stared at Sonyea with a wounded rage that made her think he was going to come after her to kill her with her own knife. He didn’t, instead flinging the knife far into the woods where she’d never find it.

  Sonyea laid on her stomach in the rocks and weeds. She’d never felt so defeated. Her attack had not been enough. She hadn’t killed the bad guy. She had not saved Robert, nor had she saved herself. She also lost her only weapon in her rushed and poorly-executed attack.

  Jeff crawled away, more concerned about Robert’s fate than either his injury or whatever remaining threat Sonyea presented. At the top of the bank, Jeff staggered to his feet, wincing when he tried to flex his calf and bear weight on the leg. He glanced down at the spreading bloom of blood on the back of his pants leg and scowled at Sonyea. He shouldered the AR and pointed it at her. He wanted to shoot her so bad he trembled in his attempt to restrain himself. He finally cursed and turned away from her, limping off toward the Razer.

  Sonya sucked in a gulp of air, not realizing she’d been holding her breath as she stared down the barrel. She scrabbled her way up the slope until she was on the forest road, then got to her feet and jogged after Jeff. Everything hurt and her gait was pained, awkward. She found a small satisfaction in the idea that however bad it hurt her to walk, it had to be hurting Jeff more.

  Lurching ahead of her, Jeff reached the point where the Razer left the roadway. Ragged scrapes in the dirt marked the points of impact where the vehicle hit as it tumbled and bounced toward destruction. Jeff raised the AR as he closed in on the shoulder, peering over cautiously. With the earth-toned gear Robert was wearing, it took Jeff a moment to locate the body in the dense weeds. He had been tossed from the vehicle. Robert lay in an awkward position, his face and torso bloody, limbs splayed.

  Jeff found the amount of blood to be satisfying. A sob behind him was the first indication that Sonyea was nearby. He lowered the AR and glared at her. “I told you to stay put.”

  Ignoring him, Sonyea continued toward the shoulder, wanting to make her way down to her friend. Jeff clamped a hand onto her shoulder, digging into her flesh and yanking her backward. She stumbled and went down hard on the same hip Jeff had taken a boot to earlier.

  He stepped across her body and leaned over, jabbing a finger in her face. “Forget him. He deserved what he got.”

  “He might be alive!” Sonyea sobbed. “He might need our help!”

  “If he’s not dead now, he will be soon,” Jeff said. He winced and stepped away from Sonyea. Crouching over her must have strained the damaged calf muscle.

  Jeff limped around for a mo
ment, tears pouring from his eyes as he fought to manage the pain. He stopped and raised his pants leg. Sonyea saw the jagged tear in his calf, blood streaming down his sweaty leg and saturating his sock. Jeff glared at Sonyea with murderous rage. “I should kill you.”

  “I wish I had killed you,” Sonyea said.

  Jeff dragged a grubby bandana from his back pocket, folded it into a bandage, and knotted it around his calf. He grimaced when he tightened it, giving Sonyea a small degree of satisfaction. “Get on your feet,” he hissed through the pain.

  Sonyea did as he asked. “What now?”

  “Well, since we don’t have a vehicle, we walk.”

  “We won’t make it tonight. There’s not enough time. We should stay here for the night. You need to rest your leg anyway so it can clot.”

  “Nice try,” Jeff said. “You’re just hoping your little boyfriend down there is still alive and coming to rescue you. Well, he’s not. He’s dead, and that’s how you’re probably going to end up too. Now let’s go.”

  When she didn’t start walking fast enough to suit him, Jeff grabbed her by the shoulder and slung her in the direction they needed to go. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay ahead of me. If I get another hand on you, I’m not responsible for what might happen.”

  Sonyea started walking stiffly, heeding his advice to keep some distance between them. It would keep her out of his reach. Jeff fell in behind her. She could hear the difference in his gait, the injured leg dragging with each step. Her leash, the frayed rope, dragged behind her. He didn’t even make an attempt to reach it.

  “Why?” Sonyea asked, speaking over shoulder, her voice raspy from screaming and sobbing.

  “Why what?” Jeff growled.

  “This? Why all of this?”

  Jeff didn’t answer.

  “I mean, those were your people back at that campground, right? You could have just delivered me down there and not had to deal with all this. Your dad’s men would have me under guard at this very moment and you could be riding in an air-conditioned RV, eating cookies. It didn’t have to go this way.”

  “Those guys get enough credit,” Jeff said. “Dad sees a badge or a uniform and it’s like magic. Those people are worth something and I’m not. Those people can do things and I can’t. Those people are capable and I’m nothing but trash.” The level of spite in his voice increased the longer he talked.

  “So this isn’t really about the compound? It’s about a boy and his dad?” Sonyea was trying to be serious, to omit the sarcasm she was feeling at having to go through all of this just so he could mend his grievances with his father.

  “You make it sound like nothing,” Jeff said, “but it’s something.”

  Sonyea sighed, noticing that it took effort, like she had to draw on every muscle in her body to wring the bad air from herself. “In the scheme of things, it’s a small thing, Jeff. In the scheme of your life, it’s a small thing. Going to all this effort just to prove something to your father is just wrong. You’re still a young man. If you go down this road of letting other people define your worth, you’re in for a long, hard journey. In the end, it will be a disappointing journey as well.”

  “What do you know about anything?” Jeff snorted. “What could you possibly know about me?”

  Sonyea shook her head, unable to push away the sadness in what this young man was saying to her. She wanted to kill him. In fact, she’d already tried and failed. At the same time, the mother in her, the teacher in her, wanted to impart something. She wanted to make him understand that what he was, what he became, was up to him. People were fragile and could be damaged, broken even, but it was your own decisions that mattered in the end. It was all you could control.

  Jeff couldn’t make his father feel different about him or treat him any differently. The actions of others were always beyond one’s control. The thing an individual could control, the piece that remains with them, was how they reacted. People could choose their response. In so doing, they kept the power.

  “Don’t let him define you,” Sonyea said. “Don’t give him that power over you.”

  “Haven’t you noticed? My dad has all the power in any situation. He’s a control freak who lives to wield power over other people.”

  “Don’t think of who he is to other people. Think of who he is to you. This is about you and him. Nothing else. You said it yourself. That’s why we’re doing this.”

  “I’m tired of you talking.”

  Sonyea was tired of talking too. Her legs felt heavy and walking took more effort than it had ever taken before. “Think about one thing for me, Jeff. Don’t tell your dad everything you told me. He’ll only use it against you, use it to manipulate you. If you’re going to turn me over to him, just do it and let him draw his own conclusions. Let him figure out how you did it and why you did it. Only then will you have any chance of changing him.”

  Jeff never did respond, though he was still dragging along behind her, occasionally stumbling or banging the AR against his leg. She thought she heard him crying quietly but she didn’t dare turn and look. She didn’t want to see.

  34

  The security detail guarding the families at the campground was bored and frustrated. They had not received the go-ahead from the congressman to proceed to the compound, as they’d been expecting for several days now. They’d also been entirely out of radio communication with his group. That made them anxious and they weren't sure what to do. Some wanted to send a team ahead to the compound to find out what was going on there. The rest of the group, knowing how serious the congressman was about people obeying his orders, felt it was safer to wait until they heard something from him.

  While the families fished, rode bikes, and pretended this was just another camping trip, the security detail patrolled and searched the grounds for things that might be of use to them. They took naps or worked out, played basketball at the playground. Still, they felt like they were wasting time. This was not what they had signed up for.

  The men were understandably surprised when their midday routine was broken by a voice coming from one of the handheld radios.

  "It sounds like Bradshaw," said one of the detail, a beltway-area security guard named Carrier. He raised the radio to his lips. "Go for campground. Is that you Bradshaw?"

  "Roger that campground. Bradshaw here."

  Carrier looked around at the rest of his group. For the last hour since they’d eaten lunch, they'd been lounging in camp chairs and trying not to nod off. They'd all jumped back to life, anxious to hear any news. "What happened to you guys? Is everything okay?"

  "Things haven't gone as expected but that's not a discussion for an open channel. We can talk about it in person."

  "Are you ready for us to head toward the compound? Do I need to get folks packing? We are so ready to get out of here."

  "That's a negative," Bradshaw said. "We're coming to you. In fact, we're turning into the campground now. I just wanted to give you guys a heads up so no one would get trigger-happy and open fire on us."

  Carrier looked stunned. "The campground? What happened? I thought we were supposed to join you at the compound?" He was dumbfounded. It was the call they’d been waiting for but totally without the news they’d been expecting to hear.

  "I said we'll talk about it when we get there," Bradshaw barked. "Bradshaw out."

  Carrier dropped the radio into his lap, shook his head, and looked at his cohorts with disgust on his face. "Well that’s a kick in the teeth. What the hell happened?"

  One of the men, York, got to his feet. "Like the man said, I guess we'll find out when they get here, but I think we should get on our feet and act like we’re earning our keep. Why don't one of you go tell the families? The rest of you come with me. Let's make sure these guys don't have anyone trying to follow them in here."

  Everyone grumbled but got up. This was the first real activity since the failed trap they’d tried to set up with Jeff. They got to work. A guy named Crabtree w
ent from camper to camper and spread the word among the families, who peppered him with questions. He assured them that he had nothing to tell them. He supposed they would all learn the details of what happened at the same time.

  York, Carrier, and Bryant slid their sweat stained web gear back over their heads, ready to act like they were hard at work maintaining security around the place. When they were geared up, they jogged to their truck. York and Bryant climbed in the cab while Carrier dropped the tailgate and planted himself there.

  York cranked the loud engine, made a U-turn, and cruised down the campground road toward the entrance. The campground was spread out, the main entrance gate nearly three miles from the collections of cabins where the families were staying. The pickup only made it half that distance before they met the approaching caravan of RVs.

  He started to swing the vehicle out of the way and let the caravan pass but that meant it would be that much longer before he got any answers. If they let the congressman proceed to the campground, they would hear the same version of his story that the families heard—a sanitized version suitable for family consumption. It would probably be a stripped-down version that didn’t tell him anything. It would be better to stop now and try to squeeze the dirt out of them. He killed the engine and threw open his door. Bryant followed suit and slid out of the clammy vinyl seat. Carrier dropped off the tailgate and joined the others in front of the vehicle.

  “What’s so damn important it can’t wait?” Bradshaw asked on the radio.

  “I want to hear the truth,” York said. “Wasn’t sure if it could be told in front of the others.”

  It took a moment for Bradshaw to respond. He was likely consulting with the congressman. “Might be a good idea,” he finally agreed. “We’ll be right out.”