Return of the Jed

by Scott Craven

  As Luke strained once again against the bars, my arm in his hands, all I could do was watch. Was he getting closer this time? The gap between my finger and the keys seemed narrower. It was so close.

  Suddenly my middle finger touched the key ring, and it was as if I could feel the cold steel brush the tip.

  No, I really did feel the key ring, like my arm was still attached. I stared at the finger, trying to will it closer, believing my arm was still a part of me. I closed my eyes and saw my fingers stretch out, reach …

  “What the—” Luke said, followed by a sickening thud of flesh on concrete.

  I opened my eyes, knowing what I’d see. I was not disappointed.

  My left arm was on the floor—on the wrong side of the locked door. Once again, distance worked to our disadvantage. The way it fell, there was no way Luke could reach it.

  “Dude, I’m sorry. But, holy crap, that scared the spit out of me,” Luke said, staring at my arm.

  “You know what scares the spit out of me?” I said. “When they come to arrest us and say ‘Put up your hands’ and I have to say ‘Is one enough?’ Really, Luke?”

  “Didn’t you see it? Can you blame me?”

  “See what?”

  “Jed, your arm came alive. The fingers, I don’t know, stretched out. And they should not be doing that, with you not attached to them.”

  “You must’ve imagined it,” I said. “You were probably thinking the same thing I was, if only I could move those fingers just a little—”

  “You were thinking that?”

  “Yeah. Weren’t you?”

  “No, I was thinking how tough life was for a guy with such short arms, the top shelves being forever out of reach.”

  “My arms are proportional to my size.”

  “Exactly.” Luke laughed. “What else is proportional?”

  “Really? Would you be laughing if that were your arm on the other side of that door?”

  “I’d probably be looking for something to stop the bleeding. Like for bandages on the top shelf, since I could reach them.”

  “Dang it, Luke, take this seriously.”

  “Did you just say ‘Dang it’? What are you, eighty?”

  “Luke, you need to—”

  “Wait. Did you say you were thinking about moving your fingers? At the same time your fingers actually moved?”

  “I, uh … Coincidence?” It had to be. “Coincidence,” I repeated, as if saying it enough would make it true.

  “No, not coincidence, Jed, and you know it. I can tell just by looking at you. So, the way I see it, we have two ways out of this. And both involve you handing over your right arm.”

  I’d already given my left arm to save Tread, but both?

  I knew the answer even before I finished the question.

  “You realize that once I’m unarmed, it’s going to be all up to you,” I said, offering Luke my last arm.

  Without a word, he put one hand on my wrist and another on my elbow. With a quick twist and a yank, I was suddenly powerless to do so much as scratch my nose. Which I now really had to do. Stupid psychosomatic brain.

  Without its usual support structure, my backpack thudded to the floor.

  “Once you get the technique, ripping your arms off is pretty easy,” Luke said. “Make sure you never shake my hand after beating me at something.”

  “Just get my other arm,” I said.

  “No worries,” Luke said, reaching through the bars with my right arm, snagging my left arm, and sliding it toward the door.

  Soon he held my right arm in his left and my left in his right.

  “Success,” Luke said.

  A smile crossed his lips. Flipping each arm so he held them by their (massive) biceps, he placed my hands on the ground and scooted them along the concrete, walking slowly away.

  “And the left takes the lead,” he said. “But wait, here comes the right, it’s going to be a photo finish!”

  “What the heck are you doing?” I said, making sure to stay on his heels.

  He turned, showed me a smirk.

  “Arms race.”

  I groaned.

  “OK, back to work,” Luke said. “I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place.”

  He unzipped my backpack, rummaged through, and pulled out a new roll of duct tape.

  “There’s a used roll of tape in there,” I said. “I’d like to use that before breaking open the fresh one.”

  “Shut up,” he said.

  If I’d had an arm, I would have slapped him.

  He put my arms on the ground, arranging them so my left hand overlapped my right biceps.

  He ripped the cellophane covering off the roll, snagged the edge with a fingernail, and ripped away an arm’s-length of tape before tearing it with his teeth.

  “Did you have to use so much?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Do you want your arms to come apart just when we need them most?”

  “You mean like what just happened? Or have you forgotten the role you played in relieving me of limbs I’ve come to depend on?”

  “You always knew I had a disarming personality.”

  “That’s all you have, bad puns? Just finish and get the keys so we can get Tread and get the heck out of here.”

  Just as Luke finished taping my arms together, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

  Except this particular light was at the end of the hallway.

  Someone was coming.

  Chapter Eleven

  If they catch us, this is bad news.

  That was exactly what Luke and I were thinking, but neither one of us said a word. Muffled voices came from down the hall. The acoustics made it impossible to tell just how far away these new arrivals were, and who knew where they were headed.

  Three things were obvious: We needed to get the keys, Tread, and out of there, in that order. And whoever was just around the corner wasn’t supposed to be here either.

  Luke froze in place, like a vampire in solar headlights. I head-butted his shoulder, the only thing I could do to get his attention.

  “You need to get those keys, and you need to do it now,” I whispered.

  Luke shook his head. “I think we need to get out of here. I didn’t pack for an extended stay in a Mexican prison.”

  “Right, Mexican prison.” I paused as it sunk in. “But those guys are speaking English. My guess is they don’t belong here either.”

  “Belong or not, we are in serious trouble if anyone sees us. Even if they’re fellow burglars.”

  “You need to get your act together, my arms through the bars, and the keys in your hand, in that order. You got it?”

  Luke picked up my arms, the tape holding well. They flopped a bit, but the makeshift pole was more than long enough to snag the key ring.

  “Jed, I’m not sure we—”

  “If I had just one of those arms, I would punch you in the face so hard right now.” I head-butted Luke’s shoulder again. “We came here to get Tread, and we are not leaving without him. You need to get it together.”

  “Geez, are all angry zombies so impatient? Fine, just keep an eye out. Not literally, since I know you can actually do that.”

  If I’d had my arms, I would have taken an eye out, knowing how much Luke hated it. For now, I gave him one last head-butt, turned, and headed toward the light as Luke went to work.

  I passed one kennel after another, creeping so as to not unduly bother any residents who may have finished their bones.

  As I made my way toward the corner, and the light, I listened for footsteps, whispers, anything that might indicate where the other break-in artists might be. I was a few feet from the corner when I heard them.

  “I swear to God I’m not lying.” It sounded different from the first voice. Higher-pitched. A girl. She went on. “I overheard Dad. The customs guys don’t even know what they have.”

  “What if I
said I believe you? OK? That good enough?” The first voice again. A boy. They were just a couple of kids. Still, kids can call for help as easily as adults.

  “We cannot pass this up,” the girl said. “This isn’t the comic convention where everyone with a mirror and $15 in fake blood and putty is stumbling around like brain-dead idiots. This is real life.”

  “Maybe, but are you positive this is our only shot? Because I don’t want to have to put ‘Stint in Mexican prison’ on my college application.”

  “Quit being a wuss. And yes, I heard Dad say the customs guys are coming before the place opens to take it away. They think it’s a chupacabra or something.”

  “Maybe it is,” the boy said.

  “Seriously? Maybe he was on a walk with Bigfoot, and the border police spotted them from the back of their trained dragon, so they sent in their team of extraterrestrial special-ops soldiers armed with fictional-character detectors and—”

  “Fine, I get it. But you realize that fictional-character detector also would pick up this thing you want me to see.”

  “I know how weird it sounds, but Dad was positive,” the girl went on. “It’s all part of—”

  CLANG!

  Looking back, I knew how my mind had made that sound about a hundred times louder than it really was. It was more of a “clink,” and I knew exactly what it was—keys hitting concrete.

  But it seemed to echo forever, and within milliseconds, the hall with filled with yips, yaps and yowls. We had to get out of there.

  “We have to get out of here,” I heard the mystery boy say before I turned and bolted toward Luke, thinking exactly the same thing.

  I careened on two feet, missing the thrust and balance provided by the two arms that should have been pumping by my side. I rushed by the kennels, each with an occupant leaping and yapping at the chain-link gate.

  Twenty feet and closing on Luke, I leaned in a way my legs could no longer keep up.

  My world went from sixty miles per hour to slow motion as the floor rose to meet my face. And me, without any upper limbs to brace my fall.

  Poor face.

  I turned my shoulders just enough to avoid full frontal impact, rolling on my back as I hit. There I remained, rolling back and forth.

  Turtling.

  I felt hands lift me up, settling me back on my feet. Something jingled in front of my face. I focused, and there was Luke, holding up the key ring.

  “Success, dude,” he said.

  “My arms?”

  “Dismantled and snug in the backpack.” He flipped around, revealing my pack with my hands poking up, each looking as if gripping Luke’s shoulder.

  Note to self: License a zombie backpack with hands as straps. Cool.

  “Luke,” I said trying to break through the undead-brain fog. “The other people. They sounded like kids. Two of them. And I’m pretty sure they broke in to look for Tread.”

  “Then we have to make sure to get him before they see him, right? That means moving. Now.”

  “My arms.”

  “In time,” Luke said, giving me a push. “Tread first. My Mexican-prison phobia is really kicking in.”

  We tiptoed to Kennel 206, conveniently located very near the key room. Tread dropped to all fours when he saw me, going into a whine that said “Where the heck were you, and why did you let them do this to me?”

  I lowered on one knee, putting my nose through the chain link. My dog’s zombie-enhanced sandpapery tongue ran across it, making it tickle. I reached up to scratch before realizing my hands weren’t there.

  “Luke, turn around real quick,” I said. He pivoted, and I rubbed my nose along the index finger of my right hand, the one with the longest fingernail. Ah, that felt good.

  “Thanks, now let’s get Tread out of there.”

  “Got it covered,” Luke said. “I already found the key labeled 206. I deserve a pat on the back for that.” He hopped, my hands slapping his shoulders.

  “Funny. Can we get on with this?”

  “Let’s do this.” He slipped the key into the padlock and twisted. The lock sprang open, and Luke slipped it from the latch.

  Tread burst out and would have jumped into my arms, if I had any. I leaned my face into his neck, feeling his cold breath on me.

  “Luke, grab his tail,” I said, nodding toward the ratty snake-thing in the middle of the kennel. Luke shrugged off the backpack and stuffed Tread’s tail inside.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I stood, looking left and right. “Do you remember the way out?”

  “Yeah, hang on.” Luke put his head down, so I assumed he was thinking hard. It was odd because thinking hard was not something Luke normally did. “I memorized the map as if it were to Pine Hollow, with the exit as the cafetorium, providing the necessary motivation. Let’s see, it was Biology to Social Studies to the gym to the cafetorium and lunch. Follow me and please keep up.”

  I lost track of the turns and soon was lost, hoping Luke really knew the way out. Or to the cafetorium, whichever way worked.

  “Turn this corner, and first door on the left should be the way out,” he said. We stayed with him and sure enough, there was a large metal door looking very much like the one we’d entered. I prayed it was not locked.

  Luke twisted and knob and pulled.

  It opened, letting in a blast of hot air that was refreshing and stifling at the same time.

  I burst through, relishing the night air with the freedom that came with it.

  “¡Pare ahora! ¡Manos arriba!”

  I have no idea what he said, only that there was a lot of anger for a quick shout. I looked toward the voice but saw only two beams of light that were about two hundred feet away and bouncing closer.

  “Luke, do you have any ideas where—”

  “Guys, over here, quick.”

  I knew that voice. The girl from the break-in. Luke and I peered into the darkness where the voice came from. We saw a faint light. A lighter? No, a glow stick. It was across the parking lot, in the opposite direction from the approaching flashlight beams.

  The angry voices screamed again. “¡Alto, alto!”

  We were between a rock and a hard place.

  We chose the hard place, since I was pretty sure it was the one that did not include Mexican prison.

  But I never would have guessed what it did include.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Go toward the light,” I told Luke, chest-bumping him toward the glow stick. He stiffened and stared at me.

  “I thought it was always a bad idea to go toward the light, especially for you, being dead and all,” he said.

  “What are you talking about? We have to move.” I chest-bumped him again. “Now!”

  He spun, and I followed on his heels, focusing on the ground where chunks of asphalt waited like land mines. If I tripped on one and went down, I wouldn’t be getting back up until the guys with flashlights stopped laughing and hauled me to Mexican prison. I’d never see my arms again.

  Luke and Tread raced across the parking lot while I stepped quickly as if in a bit of a rush. The slightest misstep and I was a dead man, so to speak. I’d never been to prison, but I had been in a seventh-grade locker room filled with close-minded bullies, so I had a pretty good idea of what life would be like.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw those bobbing flashlights were much closer than I thought. I kicked my pace from a “bit of a rush” to “in quite the hurry.”

  Focusing in front of me, I found the glow and made a slight course correction, my right foot disappearing into the world’s deepest pothole. I went down, hard. I’d fallen and wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

  The little air in my lungs sputtered out in a death rattle when my chest hit the ground. My forehead quickly followed, the asphalt scoring a major victory over my skull.

  I had just enough consciousness left to know what I wanted more than anything right now. Arms and hands. They were not j
ust for reaching things and scratching stuff anymore. They were also great at breaking falls.

  Prison wouldn’t be bad. Probably like Pine Hollow Middle School, but with better food. And more attentive supervisors.

  My vision began to cloud, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Night-night.

  “Dude, wake up.”

  Luke?

  A slightly damp piece of sandpaper rubbed across the back of neck. It came with a slight stink of death. There it was again, this time across my right ear. A tongue? I turned my face to the right as far as I could.

  “Luke, remember, mouthwash is your friend.”

  No, wait, I knew that smell.

  “Tread, move.” Luke’s voice again, from far away.

  Tread. My faithful dog had come to fetch me. But it was too late, boy. Save yourself. I was headed to a land of rigid bedtimes and strictly enforced dress codes. And it would only be for twenty years or so. At least I could learn a second language.

  “Too late to mess around, so we’re going to do it my way.” Yes, that was definitely Luke.

  Suddenly I was floating. Now this was something I could do just fine with no arms. Everything was so peaceful.

  Until reality came knocking in my brain. Not floating. I was doubled over something uncomfortably narrow. I bounced gently, yet painfully.

  I did not like this, not one bit.

  “Jed, we’re almost there, and you need to snap out of it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Jed, you hear me? Jed? Jed!”

  I opened my eyes to see ground passing quickly under two quickly scissoring legs. Tilting my head up as far as it would go, I got a glimpse of a galloping fur ball.

  Tread. It was Tread. And I was riding atop Luke’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “Luke, what—”

  “Good, you’re back, because we seem to be almost there.”

  Almost where? Wait, the light. Held by someone who might or might not want to help.

  We stopped. Shadows flickered on the ground, as if cast by …

  A glow stick.

  “Once we’re on the other side, they’ll never catch us.”