The Woodlander

by Kirk Watson

  Lilah shrieked and threw her brush at the crate, then stormed up the stairs.

  The raccoon laughed. “What’d I tell you, Ray? Acorns of steel! I’m going to miss you, John Grey. If you’re ever back in town, do stop by. I’ll buy my new best friend a drink. Har-har! Take him away, Ray.”

  “Where to?” Ray asked.

  “Put him with the others in the warehouse. They’ll be shipping out soon.”

  Ray grabbed a handcart and hoisted the crate with John still in it, then wheeled him into the deserted lot behind the inn. John could see little through the air holes, but he could smell the river nearby. He considered crying out for help, but he thought better of it.

  Even if someone did hear me, the brute just might dump me in the river. I doubt this box would float for long.

  Ray pushed the cart with a sense of urgency. They came upon an abandoned warehouse off the river. Ray fetched a key from his pocket and removed the padlock from the chain. Sliding the doors open, he wheeled John into the dark warehouse and set the box down.

  John heard the squeak of the cart as Ray began to walk away. “Hey, where are you going?”

  The only response was the sound of Ray sliding the doors closed and locking the chain.

  John bucked at the sides of the crate. “You still owe me a new picture frame, you burly bastard! And a new door!”

  “He’ll be back,” a soft voice said.

  “What? Who’s there?” John asked. He couldn’t see much through the holes in the crate; it was nearly pitch-black in the warehouse.

  “My name’s Lisa. We’ve been here for a while.”

  “We?” John asked. “How many of you are there?”

  “There are four of us: me, Violet, Billy, and Rollie. You make five.”

  “Hello,” a little girl’s voice said, squeaky and high-pitched.

  “Hi,” a shaky voice said, this one a young male.

  “Piss off,” the last voice said with a thick accent.

  “Be nice, Rollie,” Lisa said. “We’re all in this together. You’ll have to excuse Rollie, mister. He’s quite the grouch.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” John said, pulling at the ropes binding his wrists. “It could be the onset of tiny cabin fever.”

  Lisa chuckled. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s John.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, John.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure. So, you say we’re all in the same… predicament?”

  “Well, I can’t see you,” Lisa said, “but if you’re in a box, then yes. How did they get you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, as for Violet and me, a couple days ago, this man promised us a place to stay for the night. We had been on the streets for a while, and a warm place to sleep sounded pretty good. He invited us back to the inn and bought us a few drinks. The next thing we remember is waking up here.”

  “Who invited you to the inn?”

  “The raccoon in the fancy clothes.”

  “And you went with him?”

  “In our line of work, you can’t be too choosy. Besides, he looked like he had money.”

  “I see. And the rest of you? Billy, how’d they get you?”

  “It was the same raccoon,” Billy said in his shaky voice. “He came to me in the alley, said he had the, uh, medicine I needed. I didn’t trust him, but I was sick, you know? I didn’t have much choice. I had to take it. And it was pretty good medicine, but that’s the last thing I remember before waking up here.”

  “Medicine?” John asked. “You took drugs from that bastard?”

  “Well, I didn’t know he was a bastard at the time, now, did I? He seemed all right, and he didn’t ask me to do anything… weird, you know?”

  “Right,” John said. “And you, Rollie?”

  “I put myself in this box,” Rollie said. His voice was rougher, older.

  “You did what?” John asked in disbelief.

  “I said I done climbed into this box on my own accord.”

  “Why in blazes would you do that?”

  “Cause nobody puts Rollie Malloy in a box!”

  “Uh-huh,” John said. He knew Rollie couldn’t see him, but he shook his head anyway. “So you chose to be here?”

  “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “That fine, you don’t have to tell me—”

  “All right, you nosy sonofafish, I’ll tell you,” Rollie said. “I owed a bit of money to Lawrence. He’s that bastard raccoon, you see? And, well, he tricked me. Flat-out conned me, he did.”

  John wasn’t particularly interested, but he asked anyway. “And how’d he do that?”

  “With a full house.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you say a full house?”

  “Yes, a full house! You see, we play poker, Lawrence and me. Been playing for years. I owe that sonofafish a small fortune. Last night, he invited me to the inn for a private game in the cellar. He even had free booze, which should have been my first clue that something was up. I don’t know, maybe I had one too many drinks, but when he dealt me a full house, my eyes must have given me away. I went all in, you see? Every last chip I had. And Lawrence called the bet. I couldn’t believe it. There was enough in that pot to settle my tab once and for all. I’d be free at last. How glorious would that have been? After all these years, free at last! But, noooo! I was all set to throw that full house in his face when he just smiled that creepy smile of his. You know the one I’m talking about?”

  “Yes,” John said, “I believe I do.”

  “Yeah, well, the bastard flips his cards over slowly, smiling that smile the whole time. Would you believe he dealt himself four aces! That cheating sonofafish! That’s what I called him. But Lawrence wasn’t hearing it. He says, ‘You better pay up, Rollie.’ But I didn’t have the money. I never do, but Lawrence knows I’m good for it. But not this time. He just keeps on smiling, like he knows something I don’t. ‘That’s okay, Rollie,’ he says. ‘We can come to some other arrangement.’”

  “What kind of arrangement?”

  “What do you think? He tells me to get in the box. I thought he was joking, but he draws that knife of his and says, ‘Rollie, you’re getting in that box. Either whole or piece-by-piece, you decide. But one way or another, you’ll be leaving in that box.’”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I got in the box.”

  “Very heroic of you, Rollie,” Lisa said. “And what about you, John? How’d you end up here?”

  John recounted the story of how he had been attacked by Ray in his home and then followed the clues to the Broken Bough Inn. He left out the part about being drunk the night before, especially the reason why he had been drinking; that was something he wasn’t ready to talk about. He concluded with how he had pretended to be the transporter but got busted by the same black squirrel.

  “Ho-ho,” Rollie laughed. “You done stuck your nose where it don’t belong!”

  “You’re one to talk,” John said.

  “Hey, don’t be acting like you’re superior to me; you got your acorns locked in a box, same as mine. What is it with you fancy do-gooders? Ain’t got enough problems on easy street? Gotta go slumming to get your kicks?”

  “It’s my job. I’m a reporter.”

  “You’re a reporter?” Lisa asked with a hint of hope in her voice. “Does anyone know you’re here? Maybe someone will coming looking for you?”

  “I doubt it,” John said. “I should have said I used to be a reporter. I’m afraid no one knows I’m here.”

  “What do you mean you used to be a reporter?”

  “I… I gave it up. It’s complicated, Lisa.”

  “I don’t understand. If you’re not a reporter anymore, then why did you even come here?”

  “I don’t know,” John said. “I guess I thought I could get one last story. I just never thought I’d be in it.”

  “Well, you’re in it now, Johnny-boy,” Rollie said. “In it deep. And a real scoop you
got there. Too bad no one will ever read it.”

  “Don’t say that,” John said. “We’ll find a way out of this.”

  A quiet voice spoke up. “Do you really think so?”

  It was the first John had heard Violet speak since she had said hello. She sounded very young and very scared.

  “Yes, Violet, I do,” John said. “Don’t listen to Rollie; he’s an idiot.”

  “Damn do-gooders,” Rollie muttered.

  “Shut it, you old fart,” Lisa said. “You’re scaring Violet.”

  “I’m not old,” Rollie said. “I’ll have you know I’m in peak physical condition. Which I bet is more than our bookworm here can say. Reporters… humph! He’s probably some pencil-necked weasel with glasses, thinks he’s so smart. What say you now, four-eyes?”

  John simmered in his box, taking a moment to collect himself. “I say four eyes beats a fool souse.”

  The girls snickered, and after a moment, even Rollie chuckled. Billy remained quiet in his box, except for the occasional gagging sound. From the smell of the place, John guessed he had been vomiting.

  “Quiet,” Lisa whispered. “Someone’s coming.”

  They listened as the padlock turned and the doors slid open. A set of footsteps echoed through the warehouse, drawing nearer. John knew they couldn’t be the black squirrel’s footsteps.

  Ray moves too silently. Someone’s with him.

  “There they are,” Ray said in his gruff voice.

  “Five?” a shrill voice asked. “We were only expecting four. I’m not paying extra.”

  “That last one’s on the house, to make up for the last botched shipment.”

  “On the house, you say? Well, that’s different. Let’s have a look.”

  The lamp swung over John’s box. Through the air holes appeared the pointy face of a river rat; his beady eyes pressed close to the crate and peered down at John.

  “Yes, he’ll do,” the river rat said. “He’ll do just fine. Let’s load them up.”

  Ray and the river rat each took a handcart and hauled two of the crates out of the warehouse. John could hear Violet crying as she was wheeled away. After a few minutes, they returned to take two more crates. Rollie’s curses faded into the distance, leaving John alone in the dark warehouse. Finally, Ray returned to haul him away.

  “Where are you taking us?” John asked as Ray hoisted him up on the handcart.

  “North,” Ray said.

  “North? What for? What do you want with us?”

  Ray wheeled him outside the warehouse. “Just shut up, and you might survive.”

  “Listen to me, Ray. You can’t do this.”

  Ray remained silent as he wheeled John through the darkness.

  “Hey, do you hear me?” John shouted. “This is kidnapping! You’ll never get away with it.”

  Ray continued to push the cart without answering.

  “And in case you haven’t noticed,” John said, “those are a couple of little girls you have locked in those boxes. Whatever you’re planning, we’re talking about a capital offense! What kind of monster are you?”

  Ray stopped and set the crate down. He stood over John, staring down at him through the air holes. The black squirrel’s nostrils flared, his breath steaming in the cold air.

  “You want to know what kind of monster I am? I’ll tell you: the worst kind you can imagine—a monster with nothing to lose.”

  John swallowed hard, biting his tongue. After a long pause, Ray hoisted the crate back up and resumed his journey.

  Dawn was approaching as he wheeled the crate onto a dock. The river rat, Gary, stood on a barge with a long pole in his paw.

  “Hurry up, Ray,” Gary said, “it’s almost daylight.”

  “Then you should have been on time,” Ray replied.

  He dropped John’s crate onto the deck of the barge and untied the vessel. Picking up a pole, he turned to the river rat. “Let’s go.”

  The two pushed the barge from the dock, propelling the small vessel against the current. The sky grew lighter as the sun began to peek over the trees. Just ahead in the river, a twisted stump rose from the water. A crow sat on the stump, watching with unblinking eyes as the barge passed by. It cawed three times at them, then flew off towards the rising sun. John watched through the air holes as the crow disappeared and the dock receded from view.

  John had never been outside of Langley before. This wasn’t at all how he had imagined it. He remembered how his wife had always wanted to travel, but he had always been too busy. There was always some new assignment, some great story to write, some prestigious award to pursue.

  “We’ll go next year. I promise,” he had always told her.

  Only there was no next year. Not for the two of us. I thought we’d always have more time. Forgive me, Sharon. I should have cherished every moment with you.

  John hung his head and wondered if it was his last year as well.

  Chapter 7

  FRIEND OR FOE

  Falling from society is often attributed to the result of bad influences, as in “he fell in with the wrong crowd.” The wrong crowd might be defined as those with lower social status, inferior economic means, or differing morals. When a previously elevated person joins the ranks of the fallen, they are usually given up as lost. After all, what could the fallen possibly have to offer?

  The river ran through the heart of Woodland from north to south. John’s father had taken him swimming in the river as a child, but that was during the summer. It was far too cold for swimming now, unless you were one of the river dwellers who seemed immune to its chill.

  River dwellers like Gary the river rat. Tall and thin, his fur glistened even when dry. His snout ended in a black nose that perpetually twitched, as if he were constantly fighting a sneeze. He wrapped his bone-like fingers around the pole, plunging it into the water to propel the barge north. As he pushed against the current, he sang in his shrill voice:

  Oh, the river is my one true love

  The river never lets me down

  And if it comes to push or shove

  In her love I hope I drown

  The river rose when I was three

  Fifty feet above the ground

  The river swept my family

  Never lost, never found

  The river has a lovely voice

  The river dances round and round

  And if by chance or if by choice

  The river, she will pull me down

  “Shut up, Gary,” Ray said.

  Gary snickered at the black squirrel. “Hee-hee, landlubbers hate the water.”

  “No,” John said from his crate, “music ‘lubbers’ hate what you’re doing to that song.”

  “Why, you…” Gary said, raising his pole to poke at him through the air holes.

  “Leave him be,” Ray said.

  Gary hesitated. “Yeah, I guess he’s worth more to us undamaged. Still, this one didn’t cost me nothing.”

  “That’s enough, Gary,” Ray said, giving the river rat a stern look.

  Gary shrugged his bony shoulders innocently. “I was only playing.”

  He plunged his pole back into the river, mumbling to himself as he pushed. They continued in silence for several hours.

  The sun was high in the sky when Ray finally spoke: “Time for a break.”

  They guided the barge to the riverbank and secured it to a tree, then opened each crate one by one. Ray pulled John from his box last, still tied to the chair. As Ray cut away the bindings, John rubbed his numb arms and had his first look at his fellow captives.

  There were four of them, all squirrels, some in worse shape than others, sitting together in a ring on the grass.

  Billy was a teenager, tall and rail thin. His shirt hung loosely around his emaciated body. John thought he could have been a striking lad at one time, but now he seemed quite ill. He sat on the ground shivering with his head hung between his bony knees, looking as if he might vomit at any moment.

  Roll
ie was middle-aged. His fur was long and disheveled, as if he hadn’t groomed in weeks. He was also rather overweight, and his considerable paunch strained against the buttons of his coat. He sat with his head held high, proud and defiant.

  Lisa was young, barely a teenager, and rather pretty despite her bruised right eye. She wore a short skirt and a sweater with a plunging neckline that John thought rather inappropriate for such a young squirrel. She seemed neither scared nor despondent, but simply resigned to the situation.

  Violet was even younger than Lisa, just a little girl. She wore a faded purple dress with a jacket on top. She sat next to Lisa, poking a stick in the grass. The two squirrels’ resemblance to each other led John to conclude they must be sisters.

  Ray bound John’s feet with a length of rope long enough to allow him to shuffle, then led him ashore, where he tied all five squirrels loosely together.

  “We’ll stop here to eat,” Ray said. “If anyone needs to go, you’ll go in shifts. I’ll be holding the end of the rope, so don’t try anything—unless you want to be dragged the rest of the way behind the boat.”

  “Barge,” Gary corrected.

  Ray gave the river rat an irritated look. “Shut up, Gary.”

  The squirrels sat on the grass and ate a lunch of dried nuts. Not a horrible meal, considering the circumstances, John thought. They ate in silence, too tired and too frightened to speak. After they had finished the meager meal, Ray led them back to the barge.

  “Any talking and it’s back in the box,” Gary said, patting the pistol on his hip. The river rat seemed to enjoy making threats. The captives sat in the middle of the barge and huddled together for warmth, wrapping their tails around themselves as Ray and Gary cast off.

  By nightfall, John felt they must be miles from home. The surrounding forest looked wild and unruly compared to the well-groomed parks of Langley. The twisted trees along the banks stretched their mossy branches over the river. As darkness fell, fireflies emerged to dance around the vessel, much to Violet’s delight. Gary guided the barge to shore, and once again, they disembarked.

  “We’ll make camp here for the night,” Ray said.