by Riley Flynn
“And you do now?” asked Timmy, “Really, man? What’s this plant?”
“Not sure. Red berries?”
“Pokeweed, man. Even I know that. It’ll kill you.”
Timmy’s voice was short and sharp. Bitter, like the berries. Stress. Still healing. Alex let the snide tone slide.
“Good to know. But that’s not part of the story.”
“Is this story even going anywhere?”
“Timmy, you can shut up and listen or you can start talking. Either way, someone’s telling a story right now.”
They trekked on.
“All right then. So we’re walking. And then, out of nowhere, I hear my mom gasp. Like, a real gasp. She was shocked. I look up, trying to see what she’s seen. I see something moving along the trail ahead of us, some kind of animal or something. Probably something dangerous, right? Before I can figure it out, she’s turned around, grabbed a hold of me, held me tight, and shielded me from this… thing.”
“It’s a bear?”
“Don’t be silly, Joanie. You think Alex would tell us a story about a bear? Nah, man. It’s an elk or something. Big but friendly.”
“No on both counts. But I’m like you, right? I’m trying to figure out what this is. Only I can’t see, because my mom is blocking the view. Not only that, she’s pushing me back along the trail, back toward my dad, hiding me from whatever the hell is coming at us.”
With no one talking, Alex knew he had them listening to the story. Better than having them think about the trouble they were really in.
“My mom’s acting all weird. By now, my little dumb kiddie brain is acting crazy. I saw something, I know that. I try to remember. I realize that it was up on two legs. And I’ve read about this. It’s Bigfoot. It’s a sasquatch. I’ve seen all this stuff on TV.”
Timmy blew the air out of his nose.
“Like any of that’s real.”
“You, of all people, Timmy, I would expect to have a little faith in the great unknown.”
“So it was Bigfoot? That’s what you’re saying, man?”
“No. But it might have been. That’s what I thought. I can’t see it, right? I can only hear the footsteps. They’re getting louder now. Closer.”
Alex made the sound of footsteps, stamping his feet into the path for everyone to hear.
“And I’m really scared. My mom’s holding me tight. I’m thinking we’re about to get eaten. The footsteps are coming closer. They’re right next to us. Then they’re in line with us. I can hear something breathing. The footsteps and the heavy breath. My mom had her hands wrapped tight around me.”
“What happened?” Joan had stopped walking.
“The footsteps carry on. They go past us. My mom loosens her grip a bit and I wriggle free. I get away just enough to catch a sight. There he is. An old man. Absolutely naked. Apart from a wooly hat and his boots. Naked as all get out. And he’s just walking. Out for a hike. No care about the cold or whatever. Then, he’s right in line with my dad – who’s this old school, Virginia farmer type – and the naked guy raises a hand to his forehead, smiles, and says – in the thickest Irish accent I ever heard – ‘top of the morning to ye’. And then he just walks off.”
“An Irish accent?” Joan had tilted her head to one side.
“Just like the Lucky Charms commercial.”
“So what did you do, man?”
“What could we do? I started laughing. There I am, this kid who’s only ever heard that voice in this crazy cereal commercial, and it’s this guy, strolling buck naked through a national park. My parents never mentioned it again.”
Joan sighed.
“You never mentioned it to them? That’s all there is to this story and you never mentioned it to them?”
“I never really thought about it.” Alex was smiling, his tongue in free-flowing story telling mode. “I didn’t think about it until me and Sammy came up here one day and I told her. She went out and bought me a box of Lucky Charms the next day. That old man and Tinker Cliffs. I’ll never forget them.”
Timmy stopped and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“So, man, you’re telling us we need to watch out for naked people?”
“No, Timmy. I’m saying that if this old naked man can hike up and down these hills, we should be fine.”
“Maybe.” Timmy waited a moment, rubbing his fingers on his chin. “Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m leaving my clothes on.”
It was the first time Alex had heard them all laugh in days. Real, coming-from-the-bottom-of-the-belly laughing. The kind of laughter that takes hold and won’t let go.
Even if the joke wasn’t funny, he thought, it was needed. Like turning a release valve, blowing off some steam. They started walking again.
As they walked, Alex tried similar anecdotes. About the Park. About the farm.
He told them how his family had accidently bought a rooster at a chicken sale and it had chased his dad around the barn.
He told them about the corn which would grow a foot in a week and how he’d run through the fields with his friends.
He mentioned sitting on the porch with Sammy and watching a sunset.
Paint a picture, he told himself, give them something to aim for. Something for me to aim for, too, he thought, before quickly dismissing it.
“Alex,” Joan was walking in front of him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You’ve mentioned this Sammy a few times…”
Alex felt the ground slipping under the sole of his sneaker. Said too much. Talked too much.
“Touchy subject,” said Timmy. “We don’t talk about that one, trust me.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“Don’t worry about it.” Alex’s feet found firmer footing. He walked on. “Really.”
“Yeah.” Timmy’s voice dropped low. “Maybe she’ll be waiting for us at the farm, right? Can ask her whatever you want then.”
“But can I just ask-” Joan’s breath huffed and fumbled. She wanted to know.
“No,” said Alex, regretting the harsh tone of his voice as soon as he spoke. Too harsh.
“But-” Joan was beginning to sound annoyed before Alex cut her off again.
“No. Just leave it.” This time, he didn’t regret the harsh tone. The subject had to stay unspoken. Now, at least.
“You know,” Joan wasn’t asking now, she was telling. She was angry. “You’re not the only one with problems, Alex. We’ve all got skeletons in our closet.”
“And I want them to stay there. So. No questions.”
No one talked.
Thank God for damning, awkward silence, Alex thought to himself. Let Timmy mire in the mess he’d created. Too tired. That was the reason. That was why her name had spilled out in the conversation, slipping out between the memories and the nostalgia. For weeks, he’d been trying – succeeding – to keep her name from his thoughts. To stop thinking about her, about the memories.
In the future, words needed to be thought through. Carefully assessed. Considered. No more slip ups. Keep everything quiet and simple. These people don’t need to know; they need to be led to the farm.
Alex’s thoughts wrestled around in his mind, clashing against the inside of his skull. He worried the others could hear the knocks.
Just keep walking. One foot after the other. The most important thing was to escape. Escape from everything. Together, the ghosts of the past and the present chased them through the forest.
Just keep walking.
Chapter 35
They had to stop. They had to eat. They had to read the map and set up camp and find a place to sleep while the sun disappeared behind the horizon. But time was in short supply.
“I think we’ve hardly walked a mile.” Timmy used the dying light to look at the map. “I can’t find us anywhere. “
“We’ve been walking in circles, I’m sure.” Joan laid her bag on the ground and sat on it.
“We can’t walk in a straight line,” Alex said as he looked at the others. “We need to double back, check who’s behind us, cover our tracks, make sure we’re not being followed. We’ve been zigzagging.”
“What?” Joan stood up. “Then why didn’t you tell us? You mean we’re wasting all this time-”
“It’s not wasted time if it keeps us from getting caught.” Cam removed the backpack from his shoulders. “Alex was right. We had to be sure.”
“Maybe.” Joan sat down again. “But I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark.”
“I don’t appreciate being made to feel like I was leading the way. Was no one listening to my directions?” Timmy rustled the map at the others. “Honestly, man, I thought we were nearly there.”
The path had opened up into a wider space. They were at the brow of a hill, a picnic spot with park benches and winding hiking routes spiking off in every direction. A hub. Not the best place to stay for the night. But there wasn’t much choice.
They’d been walking all day. Alex, as he had announced, had led them in a zig-zagging route through the Park. But not as wild a route as he had implied. There was another reason why they were slow.
Timmy, his lighter bag still heavy on those sick shoulders, dragged his feet.
Joan had to stop every few hundred yards, her stomach in knots and her nausea unforgiving. She blamed their diet. The stress. She was the expert, Alex reasoned. Since her explanation meant they kept moving, he was happy to hear it. No one said anything, but they were scared to stop.
But they had been slow all day.
No one was tired. They were beyond tired, weariness being nothing but a minor speck in the rear-view mirror, vanishing into the distance. The image did nothing for Alex’s peace of mind. Root and Byrne couldn’t be too far behind and they were faster, surely. Two trained CIA operatives tracking a party of exhausted, shattered people as they stumbled through a forest.
Alex would never say it aloud, but with every single step he thought their chances were increasingly bleak.
There was only one solution and no one was going to like it.
* * *
Camp was set up in the picnic area. The two-man tent, now needing to fit three people inside while another sat on watch, was rigged between two park benches.
Dinner was served. Heated by two cracked cubes in a tin box, three cans of broiled beef and peas were split among them. The closer they were to the farm, the more the food was rationed. With the destination now within reach, the thought of what to eat when they arrived at the farm had forced them into lean times. But every pound of food they ate was a load off their shoulders. Dinner had more than one benefit.
“I’m going to take the first watch.” Alex placed his cutlery on the ground and stood up. The plastic knife and the empty can were left for the dog to lick. “You all get some sleep.”
“We’re just going to leave the site like this?” Cam stood to join him. “Just the tent?”
“What else can we do? It’s the only spot. We don’t have any other choice.”
Cam raised a hand. Even in the dark, Alex could see where he was pointing. Blind spots among the trees. Pathways. Entrances all around them.
“You can watch all these at once?” Cam asked. “I definitely can’t.”
“We don’t have any other choice, Cam.”
“Like hell we don’t.”
Putting a hand into one of the bags, Cam took out the ball of string.
“This is what we need.” Cam started to walk away from the diners. “Let’s take a look.”
Alex glanced down at Timmy and Joan. They shrugged. Too tired to get up and follow. With the Savage and a handful of bullets, he chased Cam out into the dark.
“What are you thinking?” Alex had to jog to catch up.
“Got a few tricks.”
“Tricks how?”
“Painful tricks.”
They were almost at the edge of the campsite. The picnic tables were dim, almost impossible to see. But everything up close had a shape and had definition. Trees, roots, branches, and stones were all visible. Cam grabbed a stick.
“Now, my friend, we’re not here long. Probably not enough time for punji pits. But you see sticks like this? Long and straight? Pick ‘em up.”
“Like this one?” Alex found a fallen branch, as thick as his wrist, by the side of the path.
“Exactly. You still got your knife?”
Alex’s hand dropped to his left hip where he kept his Leatherman. He almost didn’t notice it anymore. Always available.
“What are you planning with this stuff?”
“Just a few surprises for any guests in the night.”
“Guests?”
“Any guests. I’m a very obliging host.”
Cam led them around the perimeter of the picnic area. Every time they found a suitable stick or branch, they picked it up. Soon, Alex had his arms filled with wood, as well as strips of bark they’d found still attached to a sapling. Once they had everything together, they marched back to a spot overlooking the tent.
“Here’s where I reckon you want to be.” Cam dropped the branches from his arms. “Can see all the entrances, plus the trees. Folks’ll have their eyes naturally drawn to the tent, so – if you sit real still – they’re not going to see you. At least, not at first.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” Alex had been thinking no such thing. “But what do we do with all this stuff?”
In moments like this, Alex was reminded how little he actually knew. It felt humbling. Cam had looked at the forest and seen a wealth of possibilities. Alex had only seen sticks and stones. At least he had someone here to help.
“First, you’re going to take your knife and you’re going to sharpen these sticks. Right to a point, real sharp. Sharp as you can. Then we’re going to decorate.”
The process took fifteen minutes. Cam had his own knife and together they must have sharpened fifty sticks. They came in various lengths, from a pencil to a cane. But all got the same three-inch point, and all of them were thick enough not to snap under a bit of weight.
When they were ready, Cam instructed Alex to pick up the newly-forged weapons and to follow him. They walked around the perimeter, stopping at every path entrance, pausing at every place where there was a gap big enough between the tress.
Cam took the shortest sticks from the collection and thrust them into the ground in the darkest places. When he was done driving them into the soft mud, three inches of spike looked up from the ground. Walking a few feet back down the path, he cut a length of string and hung it taunt between two trees. Someone creeping up on the campsite, not looking closely at the ground, would trip and fall. The weight of the falling body would drive the hidden stakes straight into the intruder.
In larger spaces, Cam gathered together large, flat rocks. Wrapping these together with soft mud and a number of sharp sticks, tying it all together with string, he hung the weighted, pointed device from a tree by plaiting three lengths of string together into one solid rope. When a person caught their leg on the trip wire they’d hidden, the weapon would swing down from a branch. Alex touched his finger to a spike. Sharp. With some weight behind it, someone could die.
“Hey, Cam.”
“Yeah.”
“What happens if some innocent person walks up here and gets a face full of… this?”
“They’re an unlucky innocent person.”
“So we’re just going to leave them up here?”
“That’d be crazy.”
“So we take them down?”
“Uh-huh.”
“All right.”
“Yeah, we need the string back for next time.”
The final surprise was the most devilish. They saved it till last, when they had nothing but the tree bark left.
“See this?” Cam held the bark up in front of Alex.
“Yeah.”
Cam was using his teaching voice. He was good at it. Alex wan
ted to say something, a word of praise or a compliment, but it didn’t feel like the time. Instead, he just listened.
“This is aspen. Young one, too. We want the bark. Rolls up good and nice. Now, hand me one of them rifle bullets.”
Alex put a hand in his pocket and pulled out one of the bullets for the Savage. It had a weight, a solidity. He handed it across.
Cam bent down to the ground, brushing away leaves with his hands. He stood back up, showing Alex a palm full of loose, sharp edged stones. Not big stones, but notable for their pointed edges.
“Now—” Cam laid down all his tools, his voice calm, authoritative, and confident. “Watch closely. I’m going to wrap this bark around this bullet, tie it tight. I’m going to place this stone right on the back of the bullet where the firing pin would normally hit. I want a little bit of the bullet poking out the top and I need a slab of stone to lay it on. Like this.”
There were large stones all around the picnic park. Cam picked up another. Alex watched as the soldier dug out a hole in the ground with his hand, fitted the slab into place and then placed the bark-wrapped bullet on top. Holding it in place with one hand, Cam filled the hole back in with the other. All that was left was a short bullet tip poking out of the ground.
“See, your typical person might come wandering through. He’ll be careful, maybe see the trip wires and such. But he’ll think he’s clever for dodging them. So he’ll be getting here and he won’t be looking. He’ll step on one of these and then: boom. Bullet fires and his foot’s got a gaping hole in it.”
Once Cam had made one, he got Alex to start making them. The teacher guiding the pupil’s hand. Once they had six ready, they began to bury them around the campsite, each marked by two twigs laid across the ground. The entire operation took all of an hour.
Finishing the last one, Alex held it up in front of his face. It was just like Cam’s attempt, he noticed, the pride swelling up inside him. It would actually work, he realized. It could actually kill someone. Or harm them, at least. With that, the pride ebbed away. This was as much a weapon as his rifle. This wasn’t arts and crafts.