by S. W. Lauden
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Jesus, dude. When was the last time this thing got emptied?”
Marco took the handle of the metal tub and dragged it out from under the outhouse. He and the kid who’d delivered the bad news about Red had been put on permanent latrine duty. Marco got the shitty job because of his latest escape attempt. The messenger, on the other hand, got every terrible job that Magnus could dream up. That’s why Marco had befriended him.
The basin was full to overflowing, so they walked slowly across the camp. The last thing they wanted to do was spill any of the raw human sewage on their clothes. There wasn’t a washing machine for a hundred miles or so, or a bathtub for that matter. So they took their time. Marco couldn’t decide if the weight was worse than the smell.
“Has Magnus always been such a dick to you?”
“It wasn’t this bad last time around.”
There was an ease to the way his new partner carried himself out there, even under such brutal circumstances. A certain confidence that suggested he knew something the rest of them didn’t. Marco guessed that he was either raised nearby, or had a screw loose. Whatever it was, Marco figured that he might be his ticket out of the Angeles National Forest.
They followed the dry riverbed to higher ground. The two of them had already dug the trench at the base of a huge, flat rock up above their new camp. It was the third location they’d been in since leaving Grizzly Flats, and the smallest by far. The plan was to dump the waste and cover it as best they could. After, they had to go back for the second tub. It was the only job that got them much distance from the guards, which meant Marco had plenty of time to ask questions.
“You ever think about taking off?”
“I probably would if I had anywhere else to go.”
Marco pretended to think it over.
“You can always come with me, bro.”
“No offense, man, but I’d do better on my own. You’d probably get us both killed.”
Marco guessed he was right, but wasn’t willing to leave it alone.
“Whatever, dude. All I’m saying is my buddy Greg could hook us up with a killer place by the beach.”
“Sounds sweet. You really think he’ll come back for you?”
Marco didn’t doubt it for a second, but he didn’t want to risk ruining the surprise.
“Not if I get out of here on my own first.”
The dirt on top of the first pit was already turning to mud, and it needed another layer. They followed the same procedure as before and sat down under a tree to wait. It would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the overwhelming stench. Marco saw an opportunity to keep prying.
“You’ve hung around with Magnus and his crew before. Why doesn’t he just bail the Angeles National Forest all together?”
“He comes and goes whenever he feels like it. The biggest mistake you can make with Magnus is trying to understand his logic. Underestimate him and you’ll probably end up dead.”
“Like having guards follow me around all day, but leaving me free to escape at night.”
“Actually, that one’s easy to figure out.”
The conversation was headed right where Marco hoped it would. His new friend didn’t make him wait long for an answer.
“There’s no TV up here, you’re the next best thing.”
“You calling me a clown? Whatever. He’s gonna freak out when I actually pull it off.”
His partner didn’t seem convinced.
“It’s trickier than you think. If the booby traps don’t get you, the animals will.”
Marco tried to laugh it off.
“Sounds like you’ve done your homework.”
“Something like that. Were you serious about your buddy hooking us up at the beach?”
“Like a heart attack, bro. Say the word.”
“Well, if you do get out of here, maybe I’ll look you up.”
Marco wanted to ask more questions, but couldn’t risk pushing too hard. There was no telling how much of what he said would get back to Magnus. It was a relief when his partner was the one who kept the conversation going.
“I bet you followed the riverbed last night. Up that way as far as you could go.”
Bulls eye. It led him straight to the bottom of a cliff.
“Maybe...”
“And I bet you’ll try your luck in the other direction tonight.”
“That might be my plan.”
“All I’m saying is I wouldn’t go down that way. Not unless you like bears.”
“Which way would you go, smart guy?”
His partner didn’t answer the question right away. He just stood up and looked over to the mountains where the sun was going down.
“It’s going to be a beautiful sunset tonight.”
Marco got the hint. He stood up and headed for the tubs. It was almost dinnertime and they didn’t want to miss out; though neither had much of an appetite any more.
›
It was the same as every other time. Marco waited for Magnus and the last of the guards to go to sleep before he took off. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if he strolled right by them and waved goodbye, except for when he finally found a way out of this God forsaken wilderness. The guys around him were already snoring. Marco had gone back and forth since their conversation earlier that evening. Was his new friend actually telling him not to head down the riverbed, or covering his ass in case somebody else was listening? It was impossible to say, but Marco knew one thing—he hated bears. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to run into any more of them if he could help it.
And just like that his mind was made up. He would head west, in the general direction of where the sun had set. If he could find Grizzly Flats, it wouldn’t be hard to locate the Pacific Crest Trail and follow it to the highway. Marco knew from previous attempts that this was easier said than done.
He zipped up his jacket and pulled the hood on. It was the one item they’d let him keep from his backpack all those months ago, and it might come in handy. The weather remained pretty warm until sunset each night, but then the temperature dropped to freezing. Some nights it was only the cold that kept him moving as he stumbled through the forest in the dark.
Tonight was no different. Marco already knew most of the trails immediately outside of their current camp, so the first few miles were a cakewalk. Beyond that, things started getting tough. Hills would get steeper. Boulders would get bigger. Trails would narrow and end.
And it wasn’t like he had any breadcrumbs to leave behind. Every dead end or loud noise was another chance to doubt himself. Whenever that happened, a little voice in his head would start telling him to go back to camp, where it was safe. Except he knew that camp was only safe until Magnus decided it wasn’t. That’s when he started running again, chanting a pep talk out loud as he stumbled along.
“Run, motherfucker, run, motherfucker, run, motherfucker, RUN!”
It worked like a charm until it got him lost again. Only this time he felt like he was further from camp than he’d ever been before. That realization was both liberating and terrifying. Marco spun around in a circle, rubbing his hands together for warmth and trying to get his bearings in the dark.
He was gearing up to start running again when everything went to hell: a coyote howled in the distance; an owl hooted in the tree overhead, and something really big lumbered through the bushes behind him.
Marco stifled a scream and took off at a sprint. Whatever was in the bushes froze for a second and bolted in the other direction. But that didn’t matter to Marco. His new plan was to keep running until he dropped dead or the sun came up. He made it to the top of the next rise before his adrenaline and lungs petered out at the same time.
He fell to his knees at first, huffing and puffing for air. Then he dropped down on all fours, crawling and grunting as he pant
ed and drooled. He probably would have looked like some college kid on a bad mushroom trip if anybody was around to see him, but nobody was. Marco fell to his side and rolled onto his back. His eyes scanned the starry sky, flicking between the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. They were the only two constellations he knew by name, other than that bad-ass Orion.
It seemed to take forever before his breathing returned to normal. Marco was going to need something more than a chant to get him moving this time. He sat up and took a look around. Another dry creek bed—Or was it the same one, dude?—that led back down from where he’d just come. His legs felt like they were made of jello when he stood up. The cold was nipping at his fingers and nose. Marco took a step in one direction, but quickly changed his mind and went the opposite way. That’s when he saw the little strip of nylon tied to a tree branch.
He jumped up and yanked it down, turning it in his hands as if there was more to see. His energy was spiking again as he scanned the trees all around. Nothing else jumped out at him so he kept heading the way he’d been going. The next piece of nylon was at a fork in the trail. It led to the next one. And the one after that.
Marco got lost a couple of times on this scavenger hunt, but there was a certain logic to the way the clues were laid out. Every time he went too far without finding his next scrap, he simply retraced his steps until he found it. Grizzly Flats came into view a couple hours later. He had never been so happy to see a burned out marijuana field in his entire life, but he didn’t linger. There was still a long way to go if he hoped to get out alive.
“Run, motherfucker, run, motherfucker, run, motherfucker, RUN!”
Marco imagined that every possible monster was chasing him along that last stretch of trail. Sometimes it was Magnus. Sometimes it was bears. Sometimes it was Officer Bob. Every time it was just enough to keep his exhausted mind from telling his legs to stop moving. He had no idea how much time had passed when the black shape of Pete’s poked up through the gloom. The parking lot was empty and all the lights were out. Marco felt like he was jogging down the Las Vegas Strip, screaming to the night sky, “Civilization is a miracle!”
The winding mountain roads were almost always empty at this time of night. Marco made his way along the shoulder, following the dirt road that led to Greg’s cabin. He hoped that the El Camino would be parked there, and the lights to the cabin would be on. It wasn’t much of a surprise when his wishful thinking didn’t come true.
Marco went around back and flung the door open, only to have it come bouncing back. His heart almost stopped. He wanted to bolt, but was too exhausted. He took the knob in his shaking hand again and slowly edged into the kitchen. The bike was waiting for him just inside, so the door must have hit the tire on his previous attempt. He went to the sink and gulped down a tumbler of water.
Marco considered grabbing one of the hunting rifles in the closet, but decided it wouldn’t be much use on a bike. He reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a steak knife instead. It was small and mostly dull, but felt like a machete in his grip. He shoved it into his jacket pocket and wheeled the bike outside. It felt good to be going so fast with such minimal effort. Let’s see a bear catch me now.
The wind blew his hair back as he sped from the dirt road and started down the hill. The bugs that flew into his teeth were some of the best he’d ever tasted. He only hoped the brakes would hold for the rest of this long night. The momentum he built going downhill got him half way up the next hill. From there he just stood up and pedaled.
He and Greg had watched serious cyclists conquer these mountains every weekend for months. Back then it seemed funny to watch groups of middle-aged bankers and realtors sweat and strain against gravity. Now Marco tried to picture how he looked in his filthy clothes, gritting his teeth as he pedaled for his life. Anybody in their right mind would probably just assume he was homeless—and they wouldn’t be far off. That was fine with him. Finding a place to live could take a back seat to staying alive any day.
With no other way to judge his progress, Marco started counting hills. He was just coming up over the top of his seventh one and crossing a long concrete bridge, when he heard a familiar buzzing sound. It was like a large mosquito at first, buzzing around his ear and threatening to suck his blood. But then it got louder. It didn’t take long to figure out that a motorcycle was coming up on him fast.
Marco knew that he needed to pull off of the road and hide in some bushes, but the bridge provided no cover. He squeezed the brakes and took a look over the railing. It was a hundred-foot drop on either side. He could do nothing but pedal, praying he reached cover before the motorcycle arrived.
His ear was attuned to every turn the bike took in the canyons, shifting and revving through the curves. He could picture the leather-clad rider weaving with his knee inches from the asphalt as he leaned into the bends. Marco imagined the reflection of the yellow road lines snaking across his helmet’s glossy black wind visor. The only thing he couldn’t picture was the rider’s face. Or maybe there would be two of them, one driving while the other swung an axe.
Marco shook his head and tried to clear the ridiculous thought from his mind. Whoever it was might not even be coming after him. Maybe it was just somebody out for a midnight ride. He was pumping his legs, shifting the bike wildly from side-to-side, when he neared the end of the bridge. Marco didn’t dare look over his shoulder as he covered the last few yards
Soon they were side by side. Marco was trying desperately to speed up while the solo biker slowed down. Time stood still for a moment. The helmet turned and Marco could see his own gaunt reflection staring back. He was so transfixed that he didn’t notice the leather boot come up, kicking the bike from beneath him.
Marco’s handlebars twisted violently, sending him down to the pavement. The motorcycle slid to a stop and the rider flipped the kickstand down. Everything went silent for moment. The bike was standing in the middle of the moonlit bridge like some magazine glamour shot. Marco tensed as the mysterious rider ran back and knelt down beside him.
“There are a lot of people looking for you.”
›
“Wake up little man.”
The cold water splashed across Marco’s face. He opened his eyes and tried to take a look around, but his hair was in his face. That wouldn’t have been a problem if it weren’t for the ropes around his wrists. Marco let his chin drop, waiting for Magnus to start in on him. He was surprised to hear a woman’s voice instead.
“What’s your name?”
“Marco.”
“You one of Magnus’s men?”
He couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t get him killed. Either these people were planning to get some information about Magnus out of him, or they were going to take him back there themselves. Either way, Marco stood to lose.
“That dude’s no friend of mine.”
The woman in front of Marco squatted down, putting her hands on his knees. She had a soft touch and sweet smell, not at all like the girls back at camp. He brought his head up and she brushed the hair from his face. The guy behind him knocked it right back into place with a smack across Marco’s ear. She leapt up.
“Jesus, Red! Leave him alone.”
“I don’t like him looking at you like that.”
“You don’t like anybody looking at me at all. Give me a few minutes with him.”
“Alone? Hell no.”
“Well then, can you at least stop hitting him?”
“You got a little crush on him or something?”
“No, but he’ll be worth more in one piece.”
She bent forward to look Marco in the eye.
“Do you remember how you got here last night?”
Memories of the bike crash came flooding back. They were accompanied by a series of phantom pains all across his body. Marco looked down and saw that his tattered shirt was covered in bloodstains.
He wondered if the motorcycle rider was hovering nearby, or if he’d already collected his finder’s fee and moved on.
“Where the hell am I?”
“Pete’s. Do you know where that is?”
Marco nodded. He could smell bacon cooking now. If he was going to die in the back of a biker bar, he wanted that salty meat to be his last meal.
“Is the kitchen open?”
The woman stepped back. Marco gave her a quick scan. She was tall and thin with reddish-brown hair piled up on her head. She was wearing one of his favorite clothing combinations—high heels and a waitress apron.
“Red. Go get him some food.”
“You kidding me?”
“Least we can do before we sell him back to Magnus.”
“Get real, woman. We aren’t selling him. We’re trading him for you.”
Marco heard aggravation creeping into the man’s voice again. It didn’t matter, because she seemed to be the one in charge. Besides, Marco thought, I’ve got noting to lose.
“I’ll take two eggs, scrambled, with pancakes and bacon. And get me a cup of coffee while you’re at it.”
›
Greg was exhausted from his night in Fullerton when he pulled up to Pete’s the next morning. He reached over and took his Glock from the glove compartment. There weren’t many motorcycles in the parking lot, probably because it was the middle of the week. So much for his plan to get lost in the crowd. He opened the front door and took a deep breath. There was nothing better than the smell of bacon cooking.
He took a stool at the bar and tried to look busy on his phone. There still wasn’t any reception at Pete’s, but he couldn’t risk getting recognized by the bartender. Greg kept his eyes on the screen in his hand when he ordered the steak and eggs, and a cup of coffee. The bartender didn’t seem offended at all by Greg’s phone etiquette. He also didn’t look familiar.
The TVs were showing the same sort of motorcycle races as the last time Greg was at Pete’s. Or at least that’s how it looked to him. He set his phone down on the bar and scanned the room. Most of the tables were empty and the jukebox was unplugged. The one face he hoped to see, besides Marco’s, was nowhere to be found.