The Long Weekend

by Savita Kalhan

  They came to a clearing where the light of the moon shone through brightly and they could see that someone had used this area to cut logs. There were wheelbarrows, a very large lawnmower, the kind you sit on and drive, and a bunch of sheds huddled around the far side of the clearing.

  It was what Sam had been looking for, but now he wasn't so sure about the idea. They would be trapped again, wouldn't they, and in an even smaller, confined space. It had been a stupid plan. Why hadn't he thought that bit through? He slumped down on the stump of a tree. Lloyd stayed standing, stayed silent, waiting. Sam put his head in his hands as he finally realised that nowhere would have been a good enough hiding place. He wouldn't have felt safe anywhere. They would never be safe as long as they were within the wrought-iron, barbed-wire-topped, too-high fence, which couldn't be climbed and couldn't be squeezed through.

  He couldn't just sit there and do nothing. Sam looked at the sheds again. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to hide in one of them. At least they would be out of the rain. He pushed off the tree stump and went to have a closer look at them. There were five sheds, two of them double the size of the others, and all of them unlocked. The larger ones were stacked with garden furniture, chairs, tables, umbrellas, recliners, and an assortment of garden games and paddling pools, and gardening tools lined neatly against the wall. Sam didn't bother checking the smaller sheds; no way was he going to hide in one of those. He picked one of the two bigger ones and went back for Lloyd.

  Lloyd was standing with his hands hanging beside him, his eyes looking straight ahead, but not at anything in particular. Sam wished Lloyd would look at him, say something, even a nod or shake of his head would have done for starters. He knew Lloyd could hear him though, so he didn't stop talking to him, response or no response. Once Sam got Lloyd far, far away from this hell hole he would be fine, back to his old self again.

  'Come on, Lloyd. I've found somewhere for us to hide out,' Sam whispered.

  He took Lloyd's hand and led him across to the shed and through the door. He closed the door behind them. It was still and quiet inside, and dark. The shed had two large windows facing into the clearing that allowed the moonlight in, but Sam couldn't make anything out. He had to open the door again while he found a good place to hide inside. He wanted a secret cupboard, a little nook, a concealed space where the man would never find them.

  Sam found one at the back of the shed. Behind stacks of chairs and folded tables there was a little cubbyhole just big enough for two kids. It was perfect. There was no way the man would see them unless he was right up close. On his way back to close the door, Sam spotted a cupboard, which he discovered contained stacks of green garden chair cushions. Amazingly they weren't too damp and mouldy. He grabbed a handful and tossed them onto the floor of their cubbyhole, and that's when he noticed the other door.

  A back way out. An escape route, Sam thought, glad he'd picked this shed now. But no, not really much of an escape route because if they had to use it then it meant the man had almost caught them anyway. It also meant that Sam would have to watch two entrances.

  He got Lloyd to sit down on the cushions, and quickly glanced round for anything else that might be useful, but nothing else jumped out at him. He hurried back and closed the shed door, wishing there was a lock, or a bolt or something. But there wasn't, which was probably just as well because a shed bolted from the inside would have been a real giveaway. Sam thought he must be tired. All his thoughts were beginning to get jumbled up and nothing was making sense any more; he wasn't making sense. He made his way back to the cubbyhole and pulled the stack of chairs closer in once he was inside. Snug.

  They sat quietly, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the sound of nothing. Nothing can sound very loud sometimes, louder than noise, even louder than a jumbo jet passing overhead.

  'You okay, Lloyd?' Sam asked eventually.

  Lloyd lifted his shoulders a fraction, but maintained his silence. His eyes were dark pools, unreadable, expressionless, or just wide open because maybe Lloyd was afraid of closing them.

  'We're safe here, Lloyd, and we're together, so, you know, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay.' That sounded lame, but Sam didn't know what else to say. 'We'll be fine now as long as we stick together.'

  He knew Lloyd was suffering from extreme shock, or something, but he didn't really know what to do, apart from try and keep them safe, and then try and escape, and then try and get them home. There was too much to do. Home felt like it was in a different land, in a different country, and Sam didn't know the way.

  Sam's eyes began to close and he struggled to keep them open. Next to him, Lloyd's eyes had finally closed. Sam knew he had to keep watch just in case the man finished searching the house and decided to search the grounds next, but staying awake was becoming increasingly difficult. Even the persistent ache from his throbbing thumb wasn't helping to keep his eyes open for more than a minute at a time. The pain extended from his index finger, across the base of his thumb and down the side of his hand. The pain told him it was a nasty cut. But in the darkness, Sam couldn't see how deep it was, or how bloody his hands were. Sam wondered whether the wound would get infected and he would end up dying in the cubbyhole, his body discovered only years later by new tenants, with Lloyd still sitting beside him.

  He fell asleep.

  When he woke up the shed was full of light. The sun had come up and dried up all the rain. Lloyd was still sleeping. Sam listened to the silence, listened hard for any sound or noise from outside the shed. He couldn't hear anything. A glance at his watch told him that it was only eight o'clock. Then he noticed his hands, both smeared with dried blood, and the cut, deeper and uglier than he thought it would be. And then the terrible, agonising pain registered in his brain. The wound must have reopened while he was asleep because there was blood on his trousers and on the cushions. The tea towel had fallen off.

  Sam hunted around for it, but there was no sign of it, unless it was under Lloyd and Sam didn't think it was there. He'd dropped it. Somewhere. Idiot! What if he'd bled all the way down from the house to the sheds and had left a trail for the man to follow. Little drops of blood, a trail of crumbling children – would he see them in the light of day? Maybe not, but a blood-soaked tea towel would be conspicuous. A red rag – how could the man resist it? If Sam had dropped it on the way down, the man would know where to find them.

  No, he can't have dropped it outside; it had to be in the shed. Sam crawled out from the cubbyhole, careful not to wake Lloyd up. Lloyd with the black-blue-purple eye, which had swollen up grotesquely overnight. As Sam left the cubbyhole, a hand grabbed his ankle.

  'Don't leave me.'

  'I'm not,' Sam snapped as his heart leapt into his mouth. Lloyd had scared him for a minute. He'd thought he was asleep. 'Sorry. I'm not leaving you, Lloyd. I'm just looking for the stupid towel I used to wrap my hand up in. I've dropped it, and I don't know where,' Sam explained.

  Lloyd shook his head, his eyes pleading.

  'I've got to find it, Lloyd, because if I dropped it outside the shed, he'll find us.'

  'It could be anywhere.'

  Lloyd was right, Sam thought. It could be anywhere. But if it was inside the shed, then their hiding place was still safe. If it wasn't then they had to get out of there.

  'I know, but I've got to take a look. I'm not leaving the shed. Honest.'

  Sam crawled out and this time Lloyd didn't try to stop him. He went through the whole shed, from front to back, looking under everything, looking on top of everything, even checking inside the cupboard in case it had somehow got lodged between the seat pads, but he didn't find it. He kind of knew he wouldn't. Luck came and went, randomly. It was gone at the moment, or maybe it was there, and that was what was keeping them alive. No, Sam didn't think it was that. He'd kept himself alive, with a little help from luck; and with a bit more help from luck, he was going to make sure he and Lloyd stayed that way.

  Lloyd was already doing better now that he was away from
the house. He had started talking again; he'd only said a couple of sentences so far, but that was a good sign. As long as the man didn't come anywhere near them, Lloyd would be fine. And he wouldn't – not unless that stupid tea towel was sitting on the ground outside their shed pointing the way out to him.

  Sam crept up to one of the windows and looked out. The glass was smudged and grimy with a host of cobwebs, but that was just fine because Sam liked spiders, the bigger the better, but it also meant that no one could see into the shed easily, and Sam could see the whole of the clearing and would know if anyone was out there.

  There was no one there. He watched and waited for a long while, just to be sure there was no one waiting to jump out from behind a tree and grab him. Sam wasn't going to be lulled into a false sense of security because he'd forgotten what the word security meant. Wariness he knew very well.

  Right, Sam, stop procrastinating, it's all clear out there and you've got no excuse. Get it over with.

  Because what Sam couldn't see properly was the ground outside the shed, and he knew what he had to do.

  14

  'Lloyd, I've got to go out for a second,' Sam whispered. 'Just for a second. I promise. I'll be back in a minute. You'll be fine.'

  Lloyd didn't reply. He was curled up in a tight ball, shivering, silent. He needed a hot bath and a warm, cosy bed to snuggle up inside, but all Sam could give him was a hard, damp floor and some empty words of hope. It wasn't much.

  'Don't make a sound – no matter what you hear. And . . . and just in case anything does happen, there's a back door over there. Use it if you have to, and then run like mad,' Sam added. He suddenly realised he didn't sound like an eleven-year-old any more. He sounded more like a dad, or something, which felt crazy. Mad.

  He didn't think Lloyd had heard anything he'd said, but he hoped he had. If the man was somewhere outside, Sam's great plan, which wasn't really a great plan but the only thing he could think of, was to lead him away from Lloyd. There was no sense in them both getting caught, and Lloyd could get away and hide in the woods until someone came looking for them. They had to be looking for them, didn't they? They'd been missing for a whole night. The entire police force would be out searching for them, asking everyone questions about them. Someone had to have seen the big, shiny, flash set of wheels whisking them away, and how many big, shiny, flash sets of wheels could there be in this area? There couldn't be many.

  Sam opened the door a crack, but not wide enough to be able to see much of the ground. He had to open it wider, but very, very slowly, inch by inch with no sudden movements that might attract the eye, his eye. He waited a minute and then opened it another few inches, and after another long pause, another couple of inches. It was a bright autumn day outside, the leaves glowing rich russets and oranges and golden hues, the sky a bright, cloudless blue, the air crisp. Perfect day for a walk. But there was nothing perfect about the walk Sam was going to have to take. For a start it wasn't going to be a walk, it was going to be a sprint, and it was probably the stupidest thing he could have done, but it made sense to him.

  Okay, now he could see the whole clearing. He scanned it for the bloody towel. It should have been easy to spot. Bright red and drenched with blood. Sam saw it, but it wasn't bright red any more, more of a reddish brown colour. It was over by the tree stump in the middle of the clearing. He knew he had to get it. He knew it was the only thing that would tell the man where they were hiding. He had to get it. The thing was, it was just so far away.

  He hesitated; no, it wasn't hesitation, he was being cautious; no, he was being clever, that's what it was. And maybe a bit afraid. Maybe a lot afraid. Count it out, Sam, he told himself, it was the only way he could make himself leave the safety of the shed. On the count of three he was going to belt across the clearing, pick up the towel, and belt back, and he was going to try and do it in less than five seconds. That was a heck of a challenge, but Sam quite liked racing: well, he used to.

  He took a deep breath, his eyes on the path that led from the garages down through the trees and into the clearing, willing it to stay empty for the next several seconds. Then he counted to three. Then he ran. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, he was halfway across the clearing; four Mississippi, five Mississippi – he hadn't made his target, but he'd got the rag and he was on his way back. Seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi, nine and he was back at the door, out of breath and the blood screaming in his ears.

  He checked the clearing and the trees for any movement before stepping back inside the shed, resisting the temptation to slam the door shut and block it up with everything he could lay his hands on. He closed the door very slowly, keeping watch until the crack was too small to see through. Then he went to the window and kept a lookout from there.

  No one was going to creep up on them without Sam knowing about it.

  The next time he looked at his watch it said twelve thirty, which didn't feel right. Had he been keeping watch at the window for that long? He must have been. His fingers were completely numb and he couldn't feel his feet at all. In his left hand a dull throb had replaced the excruciating pain he'd woken up with, so at least the cold had been good for something. There had been no movement from outside at all, which meant the man was searching other areas of the grounds, or maybe he was still searching the house. Sam looked out one more time and then tore himself away from the window and went to check on Lloyd.

  Lloyd was as Sam had left him: curled up with his arms hugging his knees and his head resting on top of them.

  'I got the towel. It was in the clearing outside, but it's okay. No one saw me.'

  Lloyd blinked in response.

  'I think we'll be safe here for a bit,' Sam continued.

  Suddenly he felt completely drained. He needed to sit down. He crawled under the tables and chairs and nestled up close to Lloyd. They shivered together.

  'The police will be looking for us. It won't be long before they find us. Maybe we should stay here until they do. What do you think, Lloyd?'

  Lloyd shrugged. It wasn't much of a response, but then there wasn't much of a choice: hide out there, or hide out somewhere else. That was it.

  'I don't know either,' Sam sighed. He was too tired to think. He closed his eyes. He needed to rest them for a few minutes.

  He must have drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep because the little nudge woke him with a start. The shed was darker. It must have got cloudier outside or maybe it was late and he'd slept all day. Sam glanced at Lloyd. He had his finger pressed against his lips, and only then did Sam become aware of the shuffling outside. Someone was out there. Someone was looking for them, and he didn't think it was the police. There would have been lots of them, all calling their names loudly. This sounded like one person. Sam felt trapped now. They should have gone into the woods and found a tree, or a hollow to hide in, or dug a hole and buried themselves inside it.

  They both held their breath, and neither of them moved, not even to blink their eyes. The sound of footsteps went round the shed, passing behind them, and then they disappeared. Still, neither boy moved, or spoke, or breathed. The footsteps returned, and then the shed door opened. Lloyd reached for Sam's hand and clutched it hard. Sam could feel Lloyd's fear mingling with his own.

  Please don't make a sound, Lloyd. Please don't make a sound, Sam cried fervently inside his head. If they kept quiet, the man wouldn't hear them and he would go away and search somewhere else. He didn't know they were hiding there. Or had he guessed?

  They heard his heavy tread on the wooden boards of the shed. The boards creaked and made snapping noises underfoot; he was coming further into the shed. There was scraping and bumping noises as he shifted bits of furniture, looking, searching.

  'Come out, come out, wherever you are,' he sang.

  Sam felt the spasm of fear and loathing that shot through Lloyd. He clutched his hand harder and looked directly into Lloyd's eyes, telling him to make no sound, telling him to make no movement. But Lloyd'
s lips were quivering uncontrollably.

  'Come out, Lloyd. Time to go home,' the man said. 'Come on out, Lloyd.'

  Lloyd closed his eyes, but his body leaned forward as though he was about to get up and crawl out of the cubbyhole. Sam panicked and held onto his friend hard. He had to stop him because Lloyd wasn't thinking straight. When the man was around, he just did whatever the man told him to do.

  Sam was sure the man didn't know they were there, but he wished he would stop singing that stupid song. He was just trying his luck; trying to entice Lloyd out with promises of going home. Did he really think they were stupid enough to believe his lies? The man hadn't bothered calling for him though, Sam thought. Maybe he thought Sam had got away, or maybe he knew that Sam wasn't afraid of him in the same way Lloyd was. He had no power over Sam, not like he had over Lloyd.

  The footsteps went backwards and forwards a few more times, but after a few minutes, they clomped back towards the door, and didn't come back again. Sam kept hold of Lloyd for a long time, even when Lloyd's body went limp as the fear seeped away. The man had gone, but he had left the shed door wide open. Sam let go of Lloyd and saw that his watch said quarter to five. He had slept all day. And no one, other than the man, had come looking for them. They'd been missing a whole night and a whole day now. How much longer would they have to wait before they were rescued? Would they even be rescued?

  They had had a close call, and Sam had no idea whether the man would come back to the shed again. What should they do? Should he take Lloyd into the woods and hide out there. But it was a freezing cold night. What to do, where to go? Sam let his head fall into his hands and he cried. He hadn't cried since the night before, but now all he wanted to do was cry and cry and cry. He did it quietly, without making a sound. He didn't want the man to hear; he didn't want him to come back to the shed. After a while the tears stopped. Lloyd hadn't said a word.