by Ted Hill
“We better get back,” Hunter said. “Are you guys coming with us?”
“Let me talk to my crew and see what they want to do,” she said. “Chase was real clear about us staying out of town.” She walked back to the truck. All the boys had gathered there, including the bikers. When Jolanda arrived they moved out of earshot.
Scout saw the dialogue was heated by Jolanda’s body language and finger pointing at various members in the huddle. Nobody could have predicted meeting someone they knew from before the world became the Big Bad. Even still, Scout watched as the girl he used to know took precautions.
“They sure are jumpy about something,” Hunter said. “I don’t like it.”
“I know. But it’s better if we get them back to town.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ll tell you the same thing they’re telling her. Keep focused.”
Scout frowned, mad that Hunter thought he could be swayed so easily. He understood the stakes. Jolanda might be a pretty face from his past, but until he knew the score, she wasn’t going to play him.
“Heads up,” Hunter said.
Jolanda approached, smiling and friendly. “Sorry, guys, I think we’re going to be late for dinner.”
“Not if we hurry,” Scout said.
“That’s not what I meant.”
The rest of Jolanda’s group shot past her in a dead sprint. Hunter shouted a warning, but it arrived too late. A couple boys tackled Scout and plowed him to the ground. His face hit the dirt and he coughed and gagged from the rising dust. They roped his hands and feet, tying him up like a calf at a rodeo. Only he felt like a clown; Jolanda had just made him out to be a fool.
They dumped Hunter next to Scout, and his air whooshed out on impact. He appeared pissed off, but his first priority was catching his breath. Hunter would blame Scout for all this later when he got around to laying it down.
“Why are you doing this? It doesn’t have to be this way. We can work something out, Jolanda.”
Jolanda kicked Scout in the body with her heavy boot. His left side went numb with pain, but he didn’t allow her the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt.
“My name is Raven! Make sure you remember that next time you address me. It’s too bad you guys found us out here because it could have been real simple. Chase is looking for a little girl.”
Hunter said, “Why? He afraid of girls his own age?”
Jolanda ignored him. “She’s about seven years old, but Chase says she will be very mature for her age. You guys haven’t come by any new additions to your town recently, have you?”
Hunter spat. “You mean the three assholes posing as friendly visitors or the six chicken-shits hiding out here?”
Jolanda crossed over and laid her boot into Hunter. “Keep talking trash and I’ll kick lower next time.” She squatted next to their heads. “Chase wants this girl. He’ll burn your whole town to the ground just to get her. Chase doesn’t play.”
“There aren’t any little girls like that in our town,” Scout said.
Jolanda rubbed his head like some dog she might need to put down if he couldn’t be tamed. “We’ll see.” She stood up and motioned toward the others. “Throw them in the back of the truck and let’s go to the house.”
Scout was heaved onto the hard surface of the truck bed duffle-bag style. They delivered Hunter by the same method. The two boys that had ridden in the truck-bed started the captured motorbikes. One complained about Hunter’s handlebars being jacked-up from the crash.
The cold metal of the truck and the jolting action over the landscape made the trip to wherever they were going an aching adventure in bruises. Hunter was passed out by the time they stopped in front of a vacant farmhouse. Their captors dragged them into the house and plopped them down next to each other still tied up in an empty room.
After the door closed, Scout began devising an escape plan so they could warn Jimmy and protect Catherine from Chase and Jolanda’s group.
Meanwhile, Hunter started snoring.
She was so tired of waiting, crying and hitting her pillows. Nothing was going to change what happened today and right now she was just tired. The shade of night dropped and Hunter still hadn’t brought her clothes and things like he’d said he would. Molly looked out onto the landing of her apartment for the hundredth time. She imagined all sorts of terrible acts that he was probably doing to her things. Boys could be so gross. She wanted her stuff back now.
Exhausted, she left her apartment dressed in her winter parka with the hood drawn up against the freezing cold. She passed the bright chaos that was Brittany’s in a hurry, not wanting to be seen or told that the whole town knew she’d been dumped.
Before she realized it, Molly stood in front of the house where Hunter lived. The peeling white two-story structure seemed so familiar, but now felt uninviting. She barely recognized her apartment that afternoon. This place had become her home, but that was impossible now that she had been rejected again.
She trudged up the steps to the dark house and opened the door. It was quiet. The logs in the fireplace had burned down to a pile of cold ashes. She traced her way from memory through the darkness into the kitchen, where she knew candles would be waiting on the countertop. She struck a match and lit a couple, placing them in different spots downstairs. The light helped her feel better about being there.
Every familiar creak on the stairs reminded her of happier trips up and down. She stopped at the top of the staircase, listening for any sounds, particularly Hunter snoring. But she heard nothing. She thought of Hunter hanging out at Brittany’s. Saturday night in Independents, what else was there to do? Hunter was probably having fun figuring out which girl he’d do next.
The thought of Hunter with someone else sent an ache through Molly’s chest, the same ache she’d been battling all day.
She opened Scout’s door first, satisfied that he was gone. Curiosity overcame her and she took a look around. The candlelight shined over shelves containing all the junk he’d collected. She pinched her nose, overpowered by the leather stench of at least twenty baseball gloves that were once the property of several different sweaty hands. She shook her head with disgust and left the room.
Her hand trembled when she reached for the doorknob to Hunter’s room. What if he was in there? She didn’t want to see him ever again. She forced herself to grab the cold, metal knob.
Her heart pounded away like a rabbit caught in a snare, but she reminded herself that she’d been released from Hunter’s trap. Molly chose to be here; she wanted to get her things and leave. She pushed the door open and walked inside. Her chest billowed with fast, ragged puffs as anger from Hunter’s betrayal surged through her like a wildfire.
Molly lit more candles, brightening the room—her room. Her suitcases were under the bed. She pulled them out, slamming them down on the mattress, unlatching and exposing their hollow and empty insides. Molly opened the closet—her closet—and grabbed clothes, hangers and all, heaping them into the suitcases. She dumped her undergarments and jewelry on top, throwing the depleted drawers into a corner of the room; using more force with each toss until she noticed how good breaking them felt. She looked around, feeling feral, snared no longer, unchained and savage. She lifted Hunter’s wooden desk chair and pounded it into the drawers, smashing, splintering, and howling with pleasure and rage. She found joy in her destruction.
Breathing hard, heart racing, she walked out of the room with her packed suitcases. Out of the room that was no longer hers. Molly walked out of the house that was no longer her house and stopped next to the broken street. She set her suitcases down and looked back.
Candlelight glowed in the windows upstairs.
She didn’t want the warmth of cheery candlelight to welcome Hunter back home tonight. She went back inside, up the stairs, and into his trashed room. Standing over the glowing candle, she filled her lungs with air. The candlelight flickered. Molly’s attention was drawn to the pile of broken wood in the corner.
She tore down the curtains, adding the fabric to her pile. She placed the candle underneath before walking out for the final time.
Back on the street, Molly stood by her suitcases and watched the fire grow. First one window and then the next imploded as the licking flames tasted oxygen and devoured the wooden house. Black smoke rolled under the roof, rising into the dark, cold sky.
Something inside her begged to leave, to run away. But she was mesmerized by her handy work. A wicked smile crept over her face. He deserved this as a reminder; they all did.
Jimmy arrived first, screaming Hunter’s name. His anguished cries resembled the ones that had resounded inside her head all afternoon.
He turned back from the flames, shaking her, questioning her. He wasn’t so beautiful now. Molly spat in his face and laughed, dizzy from the glare of the blazing house background.
Rough hands spun her around and in her anger she slapped the person who dared touch her like that. Her brother, Mark, was yelling at her now, his hands clasping her wrists, holding her tight. The air around them crackled with light and sound, exposing the darkness, as the roar of the fire grew warmer and brighter and louder. A buzz of excitement emanated from the crowd that gathered to gawk. The crowd’s little fingers pointed at her, accusing, threatening.
Vanessa screamed at her. “Where’s my brother, you stupid bitch!”
Molly blinked.
“Tell me where he is right now!” Vanessa demanded. Her fist struck Molly across the cheek hard, spinning her from Mark’s grip, knocking her to the ground. Molly rubbed her jaw while the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
Mark struggled with holding Vanessa back as she strained to give Molly another shot.
“Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?” Scout’s sister screamed.
Jimmy knelt beside Molly. He was calmer now, but there was still urgency in his words. “Molly, are they in there? Are Hunter and Scout in the house?”
Slowly, her mind caught up with all the fuss. She shook her head no. “I thought they were at Brittany’s.”
Jimmy turned to Vanessa. “They aren’t in there. They haven’t gotten back.”
Her body shaking, Vanessa hugged Mark. He stroked her hair, whispering in her ear. A few moments later, he left his girlfriend and walked toward Molly. She remained seated and dazed on the pavement with the fire roaring behind her and the crowd buzzing around. Mark gripped her arm and she felt helpless, staring into the hard eyes of her twin. He jerked her up.
“Mark, you’re hurting me.”
He tightened his grip.
As they passed through the crowd, Molly noticed the three strangers off to the side. One of them had dark, intense eyes. He smiled at her. She smiled back as Mark escorted her away.
Hunter drifted in painful unconsciousness, buffeted by the wave of exhaustion from the previous day. He noticed as he slept how uncomfortable his bed felt, and also the constant nudging. In his mind he knew it couldn’t be Molly—she’d gotten the boot. So who was messing with his sleep now? And why were his ribs hurting so bad?
He cracked open his eyes to darkness. His breath rose like clouds in the cold air.
And who the hell didn’t realize that it’s still nighttime? And why couldn’t he move his arms and legs?
The nudging rocked into him again. Hunter grunted. “What?”
Scout whispered close behind him, “Finally, you’re awake.”
“Are you spooning me?”
“Would you rather freeze to death?”
“Is that a trick question?” Hunter wormed an inch away, but the pain from the recent kick Jolanda laid into him halted his progress. “How long was I out?”
“Maybe three hours; four hours at most. Jolanda took off a while ago to meet with that Chase kid. Are you ready to bust out of here?”
Hunter peered around the barren room where he lay, securely bound. His vision adjusted, assisted by what little light filtered through the chalky window. He shivered from the freezing temperature, but would never admit to Scout that spooning had probably been a good thing.
“Aren’t we guarded?”
“Not now. Jolanda told the others to take shifts watching us, but they blew her off the second she walked. It’s been all snores ever since.”
“Then I guess all we have to do is magic our way out of here.” Hunter closed his eyes. The cold was unbearable. He gritted his teeth and wormed back against Scout’s warm body.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m freezing.”
“Look, I’m going to spin around. I need you to grab the knife strapped to my left ankle.”
Hunter frisked Scout’s ankle, found the knife and unsheathed the one-inch blade. He manipulated the knife, cutting the rope binding his wrists and then his ankles. The keen edge sliced through the braided rope as though it were a biscuit.
“Okay, I’m out. Meet you back home.”
“Just cut me loose. Jolanda could be back any time now.”
“Better not call her that, little Davey,” Hunter said. Smiling in the darkness, he severed Scout’s bonds. “She has one hell of a boot.”
“Next time I won’t be tied down. Now give me the knife.”
Hunter handed over the shiny blade. “You keep that thing sharp.”
Scout slipped the knife back in the sheath around his ankle. “What’s my motto?”
“Never Bathe?”
“Be Prepared. Let’s go. I hope I can find my backpack.”
“Screw that. We need to find our bikes. I’ll scrounge you up a new backpack when we get home.”
“All my stuff is in my backpack. I can’t leave without my stuff, and my book.” Scout’s voice rose in agitation. “I have to get my Boy Scout Handbook back. It’s the only copy I’ve been able to find.”
“All right,” Hunter whispered. “We’ll find it. Keep your voice down.”
Scout crammed the rope into his pockets. He opened the door slowly and Hunter followed.
Hunter reached out for the smooth walls of the hallway to make sure he hadn’t just plunged into a murky cave. He bumped into Scout, but neither of them fussed about it. Hunter’s night vision finally readjusted itself.
They tiptoed into a larger room where musty smells, like neglected piles of wet laundry, attacked their noses; Hunter fought the urge to sneeze. Snores from the sofas indicated potential danger should the noise suddenly cease. Scout inspected the room while Hunter made his way across to another one. Their bags and stuff sat on the kitchen table.
Hunter waved Scout over. Scout smiled, grabbed his backpack and promptly unzipped it, making an inventory check. He scooped out his Boy Scout Handbook, kissed it, and returned it inside along with the rope from his pockets. Hunter motioned his head towards the way out and they escaped into the night with the cold air biting at their cheeks, ears and hands.
The motorbikes were lined in front of the pickup. Hunter inspected the other bikes and instantly fell in love with an orange and black KTM. He ran his hands all over the fuel tank and the padded seat like it was their fourth date. The KTM was big and badass and Hunter wanted it. He saw no problem making the switch. As many times as he laid his Kawasaki down, the bike was probably too hazardous to ride anyways.
“Want a new bike?” he asked Scout.
“Are you kidding? I would never give up my Suzuki. The bike doesn’t make the rider, Hunter.”
“Whatever.” Hunter retrieved his own knife out of his bag and got busy slicing the wires and hoses on all the other bikes and under the hood of the pickup.
They rolled their bikes a hundred yards before kick starting them up and smiled at each other, happy to hear the sound of that roar and to be on their way. Hunter absolutely loved his new bike; he knew getting acquainted with the size would require some serious practice, but didn’t mind at all. Riding the KTM was like riding a beast determined to keep its monstrosity hidden in case it scared the townsfolk. Now Hunter could leave Scout’s sorry-ass Suzuki in the dust fro
m third gear.
They quickly found the familiar dirt road leading to Independents and settled into a relaxed cruise. They left their headlights off, searching the darkness for signs of Jolanda. Soon the single light from another bike bounced towards them and they stopped, waiting patiently to ambush her on the other side of a small rise in the road.
“Get ready with the lights,” Hunter said. Scout nodded grimfaced. Their fingers hovered over the switches.
The light of the oncoming bike swept down on them and they flared their own lights in return, washing over Jolanda on a red Honda. She wobbled with her concentration broken and Hunter smiled because he guessed right—Jolanda was not an accomplished rider. She traveled off-road, miscalculating the sudden change in terrain and fell off the bike. The Honda rolled another ten yards without her and crashed.
Hunter steered over to where Jolanda lay sprawled on the grassy ground. He silenced his engine and laughed. Scout rode up beside him, cutting his engine also, but without sharing in the laughter.
“Hey, Scout, do you know this chick from somewhere?”
“I thought I did,” Scout said, ignoring the humor.
“So how did your little meeting go?” Hunter asked her. “Does Chase have the place mapped out yet? Did he find the hidden treasure chest?”
“No, but the way I hear it, you boys are going to have a nice little homecoming when you get back. Apparently somebody’s girlfriend is unhappy.”
Hunter looked at Scout and they both groaned. The images of the various scenarios that Molly was capable of flittered through Hunter’s mind. The one good thing—he was still alive, so whatever she did couldn’t be that bad.
“I hope she didn’t touch my stuff,” Scout said.
“Oh, she touched it,” Jolanda said. “Wait and see.”
“Whatever,” Scout said. “How ’bout you tell us what your crew has planned and maybe I won’t drag you back to town behind my bike, Jolanda.”
Jolanda sprang from the grass like a lipstick crazed Tasmanian she-devil, knocking Scout from his bike and raking her fingernails across his face.