Fianceé for Hire

by Melinda Minx

  I throw the axe.

  It slams into his shoulder, pinning him to the tree.

  “Fuck! Ahhhh! Shit!” he wails, reaching for the handle.

  “Pull that out,” I say, rushing toward him, “and you’ll bleed out!”

  “Shittttt!” he whines. “God, it fucking hurts!”

  His hand is hovering over the handle, but he realizes I’m right. His best bet at this point is to hope the rest of the cops catch up to him before he dies of his wounds.

  “Cop man,” I shout over. “What’s your name?”

  “Willis,” he says.

  “Willis,” I shout. “This guy tried to kill me, so I had to fight back. I missed his heart though, so he needs medical attention.”

  “Got it,” Willis says. “I do, too. I radioed in. Backup should be here in 20 minutes. But Jack, there’s a snowstorm coming...you’ve gotta get your son before it hits.”

  I reach the asshole pinned to the tree. I stare him down.

  “Where is Brody going?” I hiss, getting right up in his face.

  “I don’t know!” he says, his voice dying into a whimper. “I--I--I was bluffing so you wouldn’t hurt me!”

  I put my hand on the handle. “I’ll pull this right out of you, I swear to G--”

  “Okay!” he shouts. “A few miles north of Anchor Point...there’s--there’s--there’s a small dock. Aldus told us there was a small boat there. We radio from there, and some guy picks us up in the gulf. We only were supposed to do that if the roads were blocked!”

  “Anchor Point then?” I ask.

  He nods. “I swear.”

  “Willis,” I shout. “You sure you’re good here? I’ve got this asshole pinned to a tree.”

  “I’m good,” Willis shouts back. “Go get your son, man!”

  I fucking will go get him. From Brody’s dead hands.

  “Wait,” Willis shouts.

  I turn around and see him limping toward me. He’s got a hand grasping his leg as he hobbles from the darkness.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “What’s a lumberjack without an axe?” he asks. “You may need that thing.”

  He points to the axe jammed into the asshole’s shoulder.

  “If I remove the axe, he’ll bleed out,” I say.

  “Nah,” Willis says, grabbing the handle.

  The asshole’s eyes bulge, nearly bugging out of his sockets. Willis grunts and pulls the axe out. The fucker squeals and collapses to the ground.

  Willis tears off a strip of cloth from an already torn shirt. “I wrapped up my own leg, I can wrap up his shoulder.”

  He gut punches the guy, then head butts him, and he goes out cold. “That’s how doctors did surgery back in the day.”

  I laugh, and Willis starts to wrap the cloth around the guy’s shoulder and armpit. Once it’s secure, he hands the bloodied axe to me with an extra strip of cloth.

  I wipe off the axe, smile down to WIllis, and set out back onto Brody’s trail.

  The snow starts to fall after about 20 minutes. It falls hard. It’s the storm Willis warned me about. Good thing I have the axe, the rifle is fucking useless with such low visibility.

  The snow is falling so hard that I doubt the cops can keep going. Only a man running for his life, and a father hunting for his son, could continue on through such a storm. The father will always win in this situation. At least when I’m the father.

  The wind is cold and icy, sucking the warmth right out of me, but I trudge on. Unfortunately, the snow quickly erases Brody’s tracks.

  Another 20 minutes, and the wind is blowing so hard that I fear I’m somehow not even moving forward. It feels as if with each step, my boots are slipping across the snow as the wind blows me back. Like I’m walking on some eternal and frozen treadmill. But if I’m at a standstill, then Brody’s weak ass will be moving backward.

  No, in reality, I’m moving at a snail’s pace, and Brody will have stopped for shelter. All I have to do now is keep steady and make slow forward progress, until I spot his fire. The visibility is total shit, but the path forward--even without any tracks to follow--is obvious. The foothills are becoming mountains already, and there’s only one real way to go forward without climbing gear.

  I need to get there fast. Noah is just a small kid, and the cold could be just as dangerous to him as Aldus or Brody. I can’t count on Brody’s survival skills to get me out of this.

  I lose track of time. It’s as if the cold sucks out my perception of the minutes passing. Each cold, icy slap of wind makes me painfully aware of each step, and time seems to grind to a halt. I can feel my feet getting numb too, even through my thick boots. I have the mental fortitude to go on until my body literally collapses, but I may not come out of this with all of my toes.

  I clutch the axe, squeezing so hard my forearms bulge. Even through my gloves, my fingers are going numb. Working the grip of the axe can hopefully keep the blood flowing.

  One advantage of the numbing cold is my shoulder wound. I can’t even feel it anymore. Maybe it is infected, and maybe it hurts like hell, but it’s so cold I can’t even feel it.

  Finally I crest a hill, and there’s a plateau for as far as I can see. If I was Brody, I’d set up camp somewhere around here.

  The trees are all but gone now--a few sparse and wispy ones cling to the rocky ground--and were it not for the choking fog of the howling snow, I could probably see Brody from a mile away. As it is, he might be a few hundred feet in front of me, unseen.

  26

  Elisabeth

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” I shout at Detective Weissner.

  “You can say fuck,” Jane says.

  “Fuck!”

  Weissner sucks air through his teeth. “My guys can’t advance through that storm. Neither can your husband and the kidnappers, for that matter.”

  “So you’re just going to leave Jack on his own? He sure as hell isn’t going to just stop because of a snowstorm.”

  “The moment the sun comes out,” Weissner says, “or the storm stops, I’ll send everyone I’ve got right back in there.”

  There’s a commotion at the door, and a cop with a bruised and bloodied face hobbles in on crutches.

  Two more cops are right behind him, shouting at him. “Come on, Willis, you gotta go to the hospital! Don’t be--”

  “You’re Elisabeth?” he says, locking eyes with me.

  “Yes?”

  “I disobeyed the order,” he says. “I kept going.”

  I look down at his leg. It’s wrapped up in a bloodied bandage. He’s got a black eye, and even though it looked like someone helped clean him off, there’s dried blood that they missed all around the side of his face.

  “Did you--?”

  “Jack is going to get him.”

  Weissner stands up. “Him? There’s only one?”

  “I was fighting two on one,” Willis says. They had me pinned behind a tree. I was trading fire with one of the assholes, while the other circled around, trying to flush me out. I figured I was dead. The best I was hoping for was to take one down before they got me.”

  “So there were two,” I say, “Brody--”

  “Jack came out of nowhere, axe and hunting rifle in hand. He hit the guy trying to flank me with a clean shot, then he fucking--” Willis coughs. “Uh, pardon my language, he threw an axe at the guy, pinned him by his shoulder to a tree.”

  That’s Jack.

  “Brody’s the only one left,” Willis says. “But you should have seen the look in Jack’s eyes. I’d rather be a pig at a barbeque than Brody right now. Jack is going to get your son back, I guarantee it.”

  27

  Jack

  Maybe I’m hallucinating from hypothermia, but I swear I see a pale orange light near the ridge. The plateau ends against a jagged mountain wall, and just in the corner of that, there’s the sickly orange light through the howling snow.

  I consider putting the axe away and grabbing the rifle, but by the time I actually see B
rody, he’ll be in range of my axe. The rifle could just be a liability at this point.

  I walk closer, ready to swing. I don’t know if he sees me coming or not. It should be easier for me to spot his fire than for him to see outside of it.

  As I get closer, I see a dark shape on the ground. My feet move faster.

  “Noah?”

  “Dad?”

  I get closer. Noah is wrapped up in a thick blanket. Only his head is poking out. He’s close to the fire. The fire is almost dead.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “Did he--?”

  “It’s cold,” Noah says. “But Uncle Brody is getting more wood.”

  Uncle Brody. That fucker.

  “He’s not your uncle,” I say. “He--”

  “I don’t like him,” Noah says. “He yelled at me, and his friends were mean, too.”

  “When did he leave?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Noah says.

  Noah’s too young to have a good sense of time. Even if he knows, he can’t express it in a way that is too helpful to me.

  “Did he leave just now, or a while ago?”

  “Maybe a while ago,” Noah says.

  “Okay,” I say, crouching down next to him. “Do you know if he has a gun?”

  “Yeah,” Noah says. “A black one.”

  “Like this?” I ask, showing him the rifle.

  “No,” Noah says. “It’s small.”

  Black. Small. A pistol.

  For this kind of visibility, a pistol is better than a rifle. I should have the element of surprise on my side, which is better than a pistol.

  I need to figure out a plan. I’ve already decided one thing: I’m taking Brody down. Grabbing Noah and trying to circle back, knowing that Brody is still out there, is not an option. Besides, I don’t think Noah and I could make it back to civilization through this storm. I need this shelter against the ridge--and the fire--to get us through the night.

  “Alright, buddy,” I say. “Brody’s a bad guy. I don’t know if you can understand this, but I used to be a soldier. I fought in a war, and in wars, you have to kill bad guys sometimes. It’s not good to kill--you never should do it unless you absolutely have to--but sometimes...there’s no choice.”

  “I thought he was a bad guy, maybe, but why does Jane like him?”

  “He hurt Jane,” I say. “Remember?”

  Noah nods.

  “He’s going to hurt me if he finds me,” I say. “I’d get you out of here, where he couldn’t find you, but it’s too cold away from the fire. I’m going to hide, and when Brody comes back, can you pretend like I was never here at all?”

  “Lie?” Noah asks.

  “No,” I whisper. “Pretend. Just pretend I wasn’t here. You got it?”

  Noah nods.

  Once Brody is back, I can wait until he’s not paying attention. I should be able to sneak up on his back and take him out. If I’m lucky, I can pull his body away before Noah really even sees what happens.

  “You know, buddy,” I say, “when I am done hiding, and you see me coming back, I want you to close your eyes, okay?”

  “That’s not how you play. I close my eyes when you hide, and I open them--”

  “I know,” I say. “This is a different game. Close your eyes when you see me again, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Which direction did Brody leave in?” I ask.

  Noah points.

  “I’m gonna go this way,” I point in the opposite direction. “And don’t tell Brody you saw me, got it?”

  “I know,” Noah says.

  I hug him tight. “I’m going to go hide now. I’ll be back soon. I love you, Noah.”

  I kiss him on the forehead, and disappear into the cold storm.

  The fire warmed me up just long enough to realize what kind of shape I’m in. My shoulder feels like it’s going to rot off, and my toes hurt with each step I take. But it’s almost over, I’ve almost won.

  Noah is safe, alive, and unhurt. And Brody has just minutes left to live.

  I follow the ridge, which shields me from the worst of the wind.

  I crouch down into the snow, lying flat. I’m just far enough away that I can make out the fire and the vague, shadowy shape of Noah beside it. When Brody comes back, I should be able to see him clearly. Since I’m crouched down low and flush against the ridge, he shouldn’t be able to see me at all.

  I wait a few minutes. I don’t know how much time passes, as I have to use all of my energy to stay awake. The cold is trying to take me away.

  Finally, I see Brody walk up toward the fire. He’s holding a bunch of twigs and logs, and he throws them down beside the fire. I watch as he feeds the flames, and the light glows brighter.

  Now I can see his face clearly.

  I start to crawl across the snow, not wanting to risk standing up and cutting a visible profile. As I get closer, I can hear his voice bouncing off the ridge.

  “Nice and toasty,” he says. “Seattle will be warm, kid. It’s known as the city of sunshine. Your new dad is like a king there. A king who’s going to give me a shitload of money when I bring you to him.”

  “My new dad?” Noah asks.

  “Yeah, sure,” Brody says. “You don’t really believe that Jack is your dad, do you? He just showed up a few days ago. Your real dad lives in a huge tower, and he rules the city. Way cooler than a lumberjack.”

  That fucking bastard.

  “My dad wasn’t here,” Noah says.

  Brody is holding a log, ready to drop it into the flame, but he freezes.

  “What do you mean?” Brody asks, dropping the log.

  “Dad wasn’t here. I didn’t see him at all.”

  “He was here?” Brody asks, leaning in toward Noah, clutching his shoulders.

  Shit. This is what I get for asking a three-year-old to lie for me.

  I have to strike. Now. I jump to my feet, and I spring toward Brody. Just as I think I’m going to get a clean hit, he spins around.

  I hear the gun go off right as my axe cuts into his side. I feel the bullet lancing through my arm even as I try to pull the axe back out. It feels like a red-hot cut straight through me, burning with pain.

  I see the gun moving up toward me, and I swat it out of his hand. It hits the ground just next to the fire.

  I hear Noah crying.

  “Close your eyes,” I shout, my voice coming out in a gruff husk.

  I grab Brody, shove my leg into his gut, and--holding tight to the handle of the axe dug into Brody’s side--I shove him back.

  His body flies backward, and the axe rips out of him. I see blood stain the snow, but I don’t stop.

  I let out a roar, and I charge him. I grab hold of him and drag him away from my son. I don’t want to risk Noah seeing me do what I have to do.

  When I’ve dragged him--using my left arm--10 or 20 feet into the darkness, he looks up at me and laughs wildly.

  His side is a bleeding mess.

  “You’re going to beg for your life now?” I ask. “Tell me why you had to do it?”

  “No,” Brody says. “I’m already dead.” His voice is a gurgling mess. Blood is leaking out of his mouth. “Take that rifle on your back, and finish me.”

  His body is starting to convulse. “I’ve done this for one of my brothers in war...but not for you.”

  I kick him in the side, which sends him into convulsions, and I walk away, not looking back. The snow will cover him. Bury him.

  When I get back to the fire, Noah is still there, covering his eyes with his hands.

  “I didn’t open my eyes,” he says.

  “Not even at first?” I ask, crouching down to his side.

  “No,” he says. “I didn’t. Where’s Brody?”

  “He’s gone,” I say. “You’re safe now.”

  It’s a good thing that Noah’s not hurt, because I’m a mess. My best bet at this point is to weather the storm. I feed some of the extra twigs and branches that Brody gathered into the fire. />
  “You warm enough, buddy?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Noah says, nodding.

  I’m worried that this whole thing has him scared shitless, but he seems to be taking it quite well, all things considered.

  “It was scary in the car,” Noah says, looking up at me. “It was really loud. Then it was like a rollercoaster.”

  “It’s over now,” I say. “Nothing to be scared of anymore. We’re just going to camp here for the night. I’ll go chop some more wood, then we’ll get real warm and toasty by the fire. We’ll both get some nice rest, and once the sun is up we’ll go home. Sound good?”

  “Where’s Mom?” he asks.

  “She’s at home, she’ll be there when we go back.”

  As I talk to Noah, I reach to my arm. I touch where the bullet entered, and I reach around to the other side, probing for an exit wound. I find it, but the bullet went through fat and muscle. Moving it sends so much pain right up to my head that I nearly pass out.

  “Where did the bad guys go?” Noah asks.

  The other men with Brody. “They’re gone, too, it’s just you and me now.”

  I look down at the fire. We’ll need more wood than this to stay warm through the night. Especially if the wind keeps up like this. I can see the outline of a fairly large tree just on the cusp of visibility. It must have been too big for Brody to use, but with my axe, it’s as good as kindling.

  “You want to help me take down this tree?” I ask Noah, pointing over to the tree. “Do some lumberjacking?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Alright, make sure you’re good and bundled up, we don’t want to be away from the fire for too long. If you feel cold, let me know and we’ll go right back. We don’t have to chop the whole thing down at once.”

  “Okay.”

  I help him wrap up in the blanket. “Keep this held tight around your body. If you open it up, all the cold will get in.”

  I trudge with Noah toward the tree. It’s a bit wispy and jagged due to the higher elevation and rocky soil. It will be easier to chop, though, and provide more than enough wood for the rest of the night.