by Jeff Strand
When the gunshots started, Mr. Grand nodded to Chad. “Check it out.”
Chad ran off. Now, instead of each of them having a man point a gun at them, Henry and Erik were being shared by Mr. Grand’s gun. Henry didn’t feel significantly safer.
***
Randy had nearly had a heart attack when Ethan went into the building; however, he’d been on the other side of the car and Ethan didn’t see him. Randy slammed the pocketknife into the last two tires, nearly having another heart attack when Chad came running around the corner. Had Chad not been so distracted by pounding on the door, he probably would have at least seen Randy’s elbow, but he didn’t.
With all of the tires flat, Randy scampered back into the woods.
***
As the last gunshot rang out, Henry cried out, clutched at his chest, and fell to the ground.
Chapter Twenty-Four and a Half
“Hi, everybody, this is Rad Rad Roger, coming to you live from the holding cell at my favorite local police station. They wouldn’t let me bring my camera crew or even a camera, but that’s okay! Rad Rad Roger is gonna do his show anyway!”
“Hey, shut up!”
“I haven’t finished reading I Have a Bad Feeling About This, but it looks like our main character, Henry, just died, which is weird because I was talking to him and he didn’t say anything about dying. Maybe he did and I don’t remember. Rad Rad Roger has had a lot to drink tonight. Is it still tonight?”
“You want to get shanked? Shut up!”
“Anyway, even though he died, it was good to see Henry find his courage and be a hero and stuff. It’s too bad he died before he could hook up with Monica. I guess there are still a few more chapters left in the book, so anything could happen, but I think we should shift gears and talk about Sandy Klifton’s baby bump!”
“I warned you!”
“Uh-oh, this is Rad Rad Roger, signing off for AAACCCK!!!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Henry’s life did not flash before his eyes because he was totally faking it. Though he’d been told quite clearly not to move, he thought that Mr. Grand would make an exception for him getting shot. As he dropped to the ground, Henry hoped that Mr. Grand wouldn’t say, “Oh, well, he’s been shot anyway. Might as well put a couple more in his head.”
He also hoped that Erik would use this opportunity to do…something. Henry wasn’t sure what. He didn’t care as long as it turned out to be useful.
Erik cried out and dropped to the ground.
Henry didn’t see a bullet hole in the side of the building, so he was pretty sure that Erik was faking it too. It wouldn’t take long for their scheme to come unraveled. Henry wished he had a packet of ketchup handy to smash against his chest.
“How stupid do you think I am?” asked Mr. Grand. It was clear from his tone that the correct answer was not “Stupid enough to think that both of you just got shot.”
Mr. Grand cursed as something hit him in the face.
***
Ha, thought Randy, who could tell that Henry and Erik were faking. Nobody could say that he couldn’t throw a rock well when the need arose!
***
The boys attacked.
Henry went for Mr. Grand’s right leg, Erik went for his left leg, and together they pulled him off balance. Mr. Grand’s head smacked into the side of the building and he fell to the ground, not moving.
Erik pulled the gun out of his hand.
“Go!” Erik whispered, gesturing for Henry to run back into the woods.
“I’m not leaving you!”
“I’m not staying behind, you geek! Go before they come back! Go! Go! Go!”
Henry and Erik rushed back into the woods. Henry wondered if it was a bad idea not to shoot Mr. Grand while he lay there, knocked out. In a movie, he’d probably be all like “Shoot him, you fools!” but in real life, murdering an unconscious human being seemed wrong, even if that unconscious human being would happily murder you while you were unconscious.
They immediately joined up with Randy and continued running through the woods, barely able to believe that they’d gotten away. Henry already wanted to start talking about how much they rocked, but there’d be time for that later.
“Hold on a second,” he said, stopping. He let out a birdcall and they all listened carefully for a response.
Monica let out a birdcall back—a somewhat pained-sounding birdcall but a birdcall nevertheless. She was okay!
“We did it,” said Erik.
“Do you think we should have shot him?” asked Henry.
“I don’t know about you, but I kind of like that I won’t have horrible nightmares about what I’ve done.”
“Yeah, good point.” Henry let out another birdcall. Monica responded, closer this time.
Once again, there was no evidence that the men were coming into the woods after them. Henry was almost a little disappointed by this. If Mr. Grand, Ethan, and Chad would chase after them in a blind rage, screaming something ridiculous like “You’re doomed! Doooooomed!” Henry felt that he and the others could take them out.
He also knew that he was probably wrong about this and that it was quite fortunate that the evil men weren’t chasing them.
He did another birdcall. Monica responded.
“I’m sure they’ve figured out those aren’t real birds,” said Randy. “You could probably just speak in English.”
Henry had been thinking the same thing, but the birdcalls felt somewhat more romantic. Not that he was thinking in romantic terms. There was a time and place for such feelings and it wasn’t after nearly being…well, no, actually, immediately after surviving almost certain death was the perfect time for thoughts of romance. The only way it could’ve been better is if he’d put his life at risk for her instead of vice versa.
And then, there she was.
She was sitting on the ground next to the big black bag. She’d done it! They didn’t really need the weapons anymore, but it was awesome that they had them just in case. The bag was open and many of its wonderful contents, like rifles, were spread around.
Monica didn’t look quite as happy as Henry would’ve hoped, but she did give him a big one-armed hug. His initial thought—that she was too repulsed by him to embrace him with both arms, which he supposed was a reasonable repulsion—was eased when she showed him how badly swollen her arm was. Not that he was happy that her arm was injured, but he’d rather have her arm hurt than to have her not like him.
That sounded really selfish. He was glad he hadn’t said it out loud.
“I thought you said he kept the ammo in the bag,” said Monica.
“He does. He keeps everything in the bag.”
Monica shook her head. “There’s no ammo in here. Unless we want to go after them with one bow and a few arrows, this stuff is worthless.”
“Oh,” said Henry. “Well, that’s not cool.”
“Nope.”
“It’s fine though,” said Randy. “Stu’s on his way to get help and none of us are kidnapped anymore, so we can just get out of here.”
Monica held up the key ring. “We could go for Max’s car, but I guess it’s better to just hike to music camp.”
“Yeah, we don’t want to take another big risk,” said Henry. “Maybe we’ll catch up to Stu.”
***
Still no signal. This was ridiculous. They should have extra cell phone coverage in the middle of the forest, not less, because this is when people needed it most!
Stu sighed with frustration. At least he was still walking in the right direction. That is, at least he was ninety percent certain he was still walking in the right direction. Or had been a few minutes ago. Now it was closer to a fifty-fifty thing.
He did not have the slightest freaking clue where he was going.
How could the others have been s
o stupid as to trust him with this task? Walk straight. Yeah, right. Unless you possessed the ability to magically pass through trees, which Stu did not, you couldn’t walk straight in the woods. Even without the trees, the ground was all bumpy and it kept sending you off course.
He was going to die, and thus, everybody else was going to die. This wasn’t how he wanted to perish. He wanted to perish by being shot out of a cannon when he was ninety-five. Dying of starvation alone in the woods wasn’t nearly as cool.
He heard something.
A growl.
Not a human growl.
Not a cheerful growl.
Stu would be extremely pleased if this was not a bear.
It could be anything. Lots of things growled. Harmless, adorable little forest creatures like bushy-tailed squirrels or chubby-cheeked chipmunks. Maybe it was even a baby bird with a vocal defect.
Stu froze as something moved not too far ahead of him.
It was partially hidden by the trees, but it was way bigger than a chipmunk.
It was brown, hairy, and approximately the size of a bear. This didn’t necessarily mean that it was a bear. It could have been a squirrel that somehow shared the dimensions of a bear, although that would be even more frightening than a regular bear.
The animal stepped into plain view.
Yep, it was a bear.
Stu tried to remember what you were supposed to do if you encountered a bear. Were you supposed to make lots of noise and rush at it, with the assumption that a bear was more afraid of you than you were of it? Or were you supposed to back away quietly, saying “Nice bear…nice bear—” in a trembling voice?
If he could get a cell phone signal, he’d google it.
He did know that you weren’t supposed to run away, unless your goal was for the bear to pounce on you and start devouring your back.
So he’d go for calmness. Calmness was the key.
The bear looked at him.
Stu whimpered.
He wished he had some bear snacks available—that is, besides his own flesh.
“Hello, Baloo,” he said, backing away in frame-by-frame slow motion. “How’s everything going with you? Having a pleasant afternoon? I trust your hibernation went well this year?”
The bear stepped forward toward him.
Stu’s hand suddenly became drenched with about a quart of perspiration and Monica’s phone slipped out and fell to the ground.
He crouched down, but the bear’s growl grew louder, as if it were suggesting that retrieving the phone was not a good idea. He didn’t think the bear actually wanted the phone for itself. The phone was a couple of years out of date and the front was all scratched up—and also, this was a bear—but he decided to leave the phone behind.
He knew he shouldn’t run, but as the bear charged at him, he decided to anyway.
***
Mr. Grand’s rage was so intense that he wanted to rip off Ethan’s other eyebrow. But he restrained himself. This was no time to lose control and you couldn’t just rip somebody’s eyebrow off with your fingers anyway.
Once this situation was resolved, he had every intention of beating either Ethan or Chad to death. Probably not both of them, but one of them for sure. It would make him feel better. He’d listen to a soothing Beethoven symphony while he did it.
Chad was busy trying to hot-wire Max’s truck but having no luck.
“I don’t know if this makes you feel any better,” said Ethan, “but kids these days, they aren’t like when we were kids. They’re faster and stronger. They’ve got more minerals in the water and stuff, so if they get the best of us, it’s really not as disgraceful as you might think.”
“Do you believe deep in your heart that there was any possibility that comment would make me feel better?”
“Well, no,” Ethan admitted. “But it makes me feel better.”
“It shouldn’t,” said Mr. Grand. “What’s happened here today is pathetic on a cosmic scale. You were hit in the head by a frying pan. There is nothing redeemable about that.”
Ethan shrugged. “At least we killed Max. That’s what we came for, right? Mission accomplished.”
Mr. Grand wanted to lunge at the eyebrow but regained his composure. “Don’t talk,” he said. “Don’t ever talk again. Live the rest of your life as a mute. Imagine that any time you open your mouth, a giant fist will slam into it because that’s exactly what’s going to happen!”
Mr. Grand cursed silently. He was so upset by this turn of events that he was making threats that had only a tiny fraction of his usual wit and menace. Imagine that a giant fist will slam into it? How inept.
“How’s it going?” he asked Chad.
“Is that rhetorical or do you want the real answer? Because the real answer is crap.”
“Give me the crap answer.”
“This isn’t working. This truck is one step up from a make-it-yourself pinewood derby car. I honestly don’t know how it even runs. I’d have more luck hot-wiring a Martian spacecraft.”
“Wonderful. Just wonderful.” Mr. Grand wanted to kick something, anything. Preferably something with bones inside. He’d just gotten off the blood pressure medication, but his capillaries were going to explode if they didn’t catch some sort of lucky break.
“Hey, what’s going on?” asked a small green-haired kid, walking over to the truck.
WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP!
If you see a “No Trespassing” sign, it just means that they don’t want you to trespass unless you’ve brought cookies.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Grand over the megaphone. “It appears that we have another special guest to introduce to you!”
“It’s me,” said Jackie. “Sorry.”
Henry, Randy, Erik, and Monica simultaneously let out a frustrated sigh.
“Well,” said Randy, “I for one kind of thought that was going to happen. Wish I’d said something.”
“It’s the same deal as last time,” said Mr. Grand. “Show yourself or he dies. And this time, I promise you that we are not bluffing.”
“Does that mean they were bluffing the first time?” Erik asked. “Because I’ve gotta say, I had that gun to my head and I didn’t get the feeling that anybody was bluffing.”
“At least we weren’t arrogant about what we thought was our victory,” Henry said. “That would make this sting a lot worse.”
Everybody let out another frustrated sigh.
“Here’s what we’ve got,” said Monica. “A few rifles without any ammunition—”
“I’ve got a gun,” Erik told her, holding up the gun he’d taken from Mr. Grand and making everybody flinch a bit. “Thank God for the Second Amendment.”
“I’m pretty sure the Second Amendment has nothing to do with a gun you stole from somebody who was trying to kill you,” said Henry.
“Hey, this gun might save your life!”
“I’m not saying it won’t come in useful. I’m just saying that it being useful has nothing to do with a constitutional amendment. You swiped it from a gangster. I’m sure it’s not a legally registered weapon.” Henry wasn’t sure why he felt the need to debate this. Had he been possessed by the spirit of Stu? And did this mean Stu was dead?
“These guys aren’t actual gangsters,” said Erik.
“Sure, they are.”
“No, they aren’t. A gangster would be somebody who—” Erik trailed off. “Okay, I don’t know what specifically defines a gangster. I didn’t think it was these guys, but I might be wrong.”
“May I continue?” asked Monica, not using her most polite tone of voice.
“Yes, I’m sorry. You know what it was? I was thinking that gangsters wore those pinstripe suits. That was really stupid of me. I’m exhausted and stressed out from the whole gun-in-my-face thing. Ignore me.”
>
Monica did. “We’ve also got a bow and some arrows.”
“That’s perfect,” said Randy. “Henry’s a master archer.”
“Good,” said Monica, handing Henry the bow.
“I’m kind of overrated,” Henry admitted. “Maybe you should take it.”
“I’ve never shot a bow and arrow in my life. I’m only good with bludgeoning weapons.”
“Okay, I’ll take it. But I want it out in the open that I’m a complete archery fraud. I don’t want anybody to think that I put Jackie’s life in danger out of my own pride.”
“Noted. We also have canteens, sticks—why are there sticks in here?—matches, water purification tablets…nothing useful in a siege.”
“Are there grenades?” Randy asked.
“No.”
“Darn. I thought there’d be grenades.”
“All right,” said Henry, “so this isn’t as good as a machine gun or pack of dynamite. That’s fine. We’re not the same wieners we were when we started Strongwoods Survival Camp and we’re not afraid to go on the offensive! We’re going to show those scumbags that they can kill the strongest of us but they can’t kill the weakest!” Henry considered that for a split second. “That’s not at all what I meant to say, and right now I can’t think of a better way to phrase it, so be inspired by what I meant instead of what I said!”
The others did not seem intensely motivated.
“We’ve been the underdogs long enough,” said Henry. “Everybody laughs at us. Maybe they don’t laugh at Monica so much and maybe not Erik. But Randy and I get laughed at all the time and we’re tired of it! That changes now. This is our moment! This is our time of redemption! And like all good times of redemption, there’s the chance that we’ll mess it up and need even more redemption when we’re done, but I’m willing to take that risk! I think we can do this! And in the end, that’s what life is all about—carefully calculated risk! Let’s do this!”
After some more brief discussion, everybody reluctantly decided that yes, they should probably do this. The warriors headed off into battle.