by Jeff Strand
We return to our full sprint and run back onto the dirt road. It curves slightly to the left, so after we're out of sight, I turn on the flashlight and shine it on the ground in front of us.
"Try to keep up," Harriett says to Maraud, who has fallen behind a couple of steps.
"I'm a fighter, not a runner!" he tells her, sounding out of breath already. "And I'm tired from saving us from the goddamn coyotes!"
"I did my part."
"Not saying that you didn't help, but I definitely—"
"Conversation for later!" I say.
Even with Maraud not quite keeping the pace, we are indeed outrunning Reggie's car. My hope was that he'd floor the gas pedal and break something important, but he seems to be driving at a safe speed.
I hope I live long enough to have time to be sufficiently flabbergasted by Reggie's return to our lives. How the hell did he find us out here? We're not even in my car anymore!
Questions for another time...
It's extremely difficult to try to illuminate the ground for all four of us. I'm focusing more on the others than myself, which I suppose is why my left foot comes down on a big jagged rock and I pitch forward, landing on my face and dropping the flashlight.
Seth scoops it up as it rolls away. Harriett pulls me to my feet. I don't think this is any worse than the other injuries I've accumulated on this trip, so I'm able to quickly resume the run without dooming everybody else.
I mentally prepare myself for the sight of a dozen deadly coyotes waiting in the middle of the road, because that's where this night seems to be headed. But after a few minutes of sprinting, during which we lose Reggie's car completely, I can see Maraud's truck up ahead.
As always, I don't have a strategy for what to do next. It's great that Maraud has a rifle, but Reggie and his companions have at least two guns, so unless Maraud is an expert shot, we're still in bad shape.
"Are you a good shot?" I ask Maraud, as he unlocks his truck door.
"Not really. You?"
"I've never shot a rifle."
"Harriett?" Maraud asks.
"I'm only skilled with close-up weapons."
"Seth?"
"I can try."
"Will you succeed?"
"I can't make any promises."
Maraud takes a rifle out from behind the seat and hands it to Seth. "Hide in the back of the truck. Wait for them to stop the car. When they do, start shooting."
Seth gives him a nervous nod then climbs into the back of the truck. "You take that side," Maraud tells Harriett, pointing to the woods on the other side of the road. "I'll take this side. Attack when it feels right." He looks at me. "Want to be bait?"
"Not really."
"You sure?"
"Quite sure."
"Then go with Harriett."
Harriett and I hurry into the woods and crouch down. A moment later, we see the headlights of Reggie's car.
"This is a terrible plan," I whisper.
"I don't believe it qualifies as an actual plan."
"Are you sure we shouldn't just keep running? That seemed to be working pretty well."
"Our pursuers need to be dealt with. We can't have them distracting us while we're trying to slay the Cyclops."
Reggie's car continues to approach. He has to know that this is a makeshift trap, right? He's a pretty bad bounty hunter, but he's not stupid.
About fifty feet away from the back of the truck, the car stops.
The passenger door opens, and Pulp gets out. I'm glad that there's no sign of the guy who went over the rail, which would be very disconcerting.
"We only want the girl," Pulp calls out. "Turn her over to us and we'll leave the rest of you alone."
"I doubt he's being truthful," Harriett whispers.
"You have ten seconds to send her out. If she's not out here by the time I finish counting, all of you are dead. Ten...nine...eight..."
"I think you should stay put," I tell Harriett.
"I appreciate that," she says.
"Seven...six...five..."
The car's headlights illuminate the back of the truck enough that I can see that the barrel of the rifle is not protruding over the side. This seems like it would be a good time for Seth to open fire.
"Four...three...two..."
Pulp didn't clarify exactly what was going to happen at "one." Is he going to start shooting into the darkness? Is Reggie going to join him? Or is it just the point where they resume trying to find us?
"One!"
Pulp just stands there.
"I said, if you don't send out the girl in ten seconds, all of you are dead."
He continues to stand there. This countdown was kind of anticlimactic.
I see the barrel of the rifle poke over the tailgate. An instant later, Seth pulls the trigger. He's keeping himself hidden, so his aim is crap and he doesn't hit anything, but Pulp hurries forward, gun raised.
Harriett rushes out of our hiding spot to intercept him.
Pulp swings his gun toward her, but takes a branch to the arm before he can fire.
Seth, who cannot see what's happening in front of him, shoots again.
Pulp cries out and clutches his upper thigh.
Maraud hurries onto the road.
The driver's side door swings open. Reggie gets out, using the door for cover.
Seth fires again, shattering the front windshield.
"Stop shooting randomly!" I shout.
Harriett whacks Pulp in the forehead with the branch, then twists him around to put him between her and Reggie. Pulp isn't a perfect human shield by any stretch of the imagination, so somebody is going to have to take out Reggie.
Seth's head pops into view. He points the rifle at Reggie's hiding spot and fires, hitting the door. I can't tell if the bullet passed through. Probably not. I don't think a bullet can pass all the way through a car door, though it's not something I've ever researched.
Pulp tumbles to the ground, robbing Harriett of her human shield.
I'm not really a "create a diversion to draw gunfire to myself" kind of guy, but Harriett is fully exposed, and I've at least got some tree cover. So I start running through the brush, shouting "Hey! Hey! Over here!", hoping that this doesn't get me a bullet to the gut.
A bullet whizzes past my face, and I wonder why the hell I did that.
Seth fires again, shattering the car door window. He's actually a pretty good shot, assuming he did that on purpose.
Reggie takes another shot at me. I suppose I've accomplished my goal, but shit!
Maraud has gone around the back of Reggie's car, and now he's creeping up behind him. If Reggie hears him, it won't be difficult to deliver a point-blank bullet to Maraud's forehead.
Harriett scoops up Pulp's gun and tosses it into the woods toward me, then she runs to the opposite side of the car to decrease the chances that Reggie will shoot her.
Reggie looks back.
And then Maraud gets him in a headlock and pulls him to his feet.
"Drop your gun," Maraud tells him.
Reggie obliges.
We seem to be safe now. I pick up the gun while Harriett walks back over to where Pulp is lying on the ground. She holds the branch over his head, to indicate that it would be in his best interest to remain there and not make a lot of fuss.
"This the Cyclops?" Maraud asks me.
"Yes," I say, stepping back onto the road. "Great work."
Maraud twists Reggie's neck. There's an audible snap, and then Reggie's whole body goes limp. Maraud lets go of him and he drops to the ground.
"Uhhhhh..." I say.
Maraud brushes his hands off on his pants. "Job done."
I'm not sure if I should have seen that coming or not. If I'd known he was just going to break Reggie's neck, I would have given a different answer. I sort of assumed that we'd discuss the situation first.
"I...um, I...um..." I'm having trouble using words.
Seth climbs out of the back of the truck. "Oh my God! I've ne
ver seen somebody get their neck broken. That's gonna haunt me forever. And it wasn't even gory." He leans the rifle against the truck, puts his hand over his mouth, and tries not to throw up.
"I wish you hadn't done that," I tell Maraud.
"Why? You were hired to kill him, right? Why give him the chance to outsmart us and escape?"
"We had some questions for him."
Maraud points to Pulp. "He's not dead. Question him."
Pulp curls into the fetal position.
Seth coughs a couple of times but doesn't vomit. "Did you hear the snap? It was horrible. It sounded like twisting a piece of celery in half, except way worse."
"You shot the other guy in the leg," says Maraud. "Look at all the blood. If you're going to be sick, be sick over your own violence, not mine."
Seth slaps his hand back over his mouth.
Feeling more than a bit stunned, I walk over to Pulp. I point the gun at him, and he pulls himself into an even tighter ball.
"Who are you?" I ask.
Pulp squeezes his eyes closed and says nothing. Harriett smacks him on the ear with the tip of the branch. "He asked you a question."
"I'm Jerry," he says, not opening his eyes. "Jerry White."
"Why are you following us?"
Jerry, who I still think of as Pulp, doesn't answer. Harriett smacks him in the ear again.
"I don't know anything," he insists.
"You've got to know something," I tell him. "How did you follow us all this way?"
"Reggie knew where to go."
"How did he know?"
"I don't know."
"Did he have a tracking device? What?"
"He just knew! He didn't explain. I'm only here for the paycheck, I swear."
"Were you working for Harriett's parents?"
"No. He had them on his phone as a fake contact. You shouldn't have fallen for that."
"What happened to the other guy?"
"He died. At least, I assume he did after we buried him."
I decide not to delve further into that particular comment. "You spent at least four days riding around with him. You can't tell me that you don't know anything else."
"I don't. He wasn't talky."
"Give me something to work with or I'll shoot you in the other leg."
Pulp chokes back a sob. "I can't tell you anything. Do what you've got to do."
I am, of course, not really going to shoot him. "What I mean is that my friend will jam her thumb in the bullet hole. Is that what you want? You want her to jam her thumb into your wound and jiggle her finger around? How do you think that will feel?"
"That is not something I'd be inclined to do," says Harriett. I wish she were better at deception.
"Oh, that really sucks for you," I tell Pulp. "Even though she's a trained deadly warrior, she has the smallest fingers of all of us." I point to Seth. "So it's Graspin the Colossal who will be messing with your gunshot wound. What do you think about that?"
"His name's not really Graspin the Colossal," says Pulp.
"As far as you're concerned, it is."
"What is he, six?"
"Just to clarify," says Seth, "I don't go around calling myself Graspin the Colossal. I'm totally aware of the difference between my real self and the character I use for role-playing games."
Maraud walks over and crouches down over Pulp. "How about I tear his jaw off for you?"
"Well, no, we're trying to get him to talk."
"Maybe just his lips, then."
"Can you talk without your lips?" I ask Maraud.
"Not perfectly, but, sure, why not?"
"Have you ever torn off somebody's lips and then talked to them afterward?"
"No," says Maraud. "I suppose I haven't."
He punches the bullet wound. Pulp lets out a shriek of pain that, if this were a movie, would be followed by an image of hundreds of startled birds flying out of the trees.
I want to apologize to Pulp, but no, that's the opposite of what I should be doing. "Tell us why you want Harriett, or he'll do that again," I say.
"I don't know anything!"
Maraud smacks the wound again.
Pulp howls. He's either going to scare away every coyote in the woods, or bring them here, seeking easy prey.
"You should probably quit doing that," says Seth. "If you keep hurting him, he's going to give you fake answers just to make you stop."
"I know when people are lying to me," says Maraud. He's here with us because of one big whopper of a lie that we told him, but that's a revelation for later.
Pulp wipes some snot onto his sleeve. "I don't know anything. You have to believe me. If I knew anything, I would have told you the first time you hit my leg. I wouldn't have made you do it twice, I swear."
Maraud reaches out to me. "Give me the gun."
I'm not sure I should do this. I don't want him to blow Pulp's head off.
"I said, give me the gun."
"I probably shouldn't."
Maraud lets out a huff of disbelief. "Do you people have any clue how to intimidate somebody? Why don't we just offer him some hot tea and a blankey? Jesus."
"Sorry."
"Whatever. Don't care if he talks or not. Just trying to help you guys out. If you need me, I'll be in the truck, patching up my gashes."
Maraud climbs into the truck and slams the door.
"Let me go," says Pulp. "I won't say anything about what you did to Reggie, I promise."
"We're not the ones who need to worry about police involvement," I say. "You tried to slash my throat."
"Point taken. I did do that." Pulp sighs, then nods toward Seth. "He's right, though. If you keep torturing me, I'll just make something up."
Seth picks up the rifle. "You know what, I've had enough of this garbage." He presses the barrel of the gun between Pulp's eyes. "Tell us what we want to know, or I will end you!" he screams. "Do you understand? I will turn your head into red mist!"
"I don't know anything!" says Pulp, now in tears. "I'm telling the truth! It was all Reggie! I don't know anything! I don't know anything!"
Seth lowers the rifle. "I think it's safe to say that he doesn't know anything."
"So what do we do with him?" I ask.
"Leave him to be devoured by wild animals?"
"Look, I know you're going to take the car," says Pulp. "Throw me in the trunk, drive back to the main road, and then toss me off to the side. I'll take care of myself from there. Please, show some mercy."
"The same mercy you showed your friend when you buried him alive?" I ask.
"He wasn't going to make it. I've got plenty of good years left."
"We have several options," says Harriett. "Cold-blooded murder, abandonment here, abandonment in a more civilized area, further pain-based incentive to provide additional information, or we can take him with us for the remainder of our journey."
"We're not going to kill him," I say. "And we're sure as hell not taking him with us except maybe to dump him off somewhere. I believe him when he says he doesn't know anything. I don't mind leaving him here for the coyotes if everybody else is cool with it, but my official vote is to bring him back to the main road."
"I agree," says Harriett.
"We could take him to the police," says Seth.
"That would cause a significant delay," says Harriett. "And I very much doubt Maraud would consider that an acceptable option, since he took a human life."
"Yeah, I guess not."
"All in favor of throwing him in the trunk and dumping him on the main road, raise your hand," I say.
Harriett, Seth, and Pulp raise their hands.
"You don't get a vote and you know it," I tell Pulp. "But it doesn't matter, because I'm in favor of that too. I'll tell Maraud."
I open the truck door. Maraud is taping gauze to his arm.
"Yeah?" he asks.
"We're going to drop him off."
"All right. Give me a minute."
While Maraud finishes with his own
first aid, Harriett and I drag Pulp to the back of Reggie's car. Seth climbs into the front seat and pops the trunk lid.
The trunk is completely empty. I don't know anybody who keeps a completely empty car trunk, so presumably Harriett was supposed to go in there.
Maraud gets out of the truck and walks over to us. "Take his legs," he tells me.
I grab Pulp's legs. Maraud crouches down next to him, then suddenly gives Pulp's head a violent twist, snapping his neck.
We all gape at Maraud.
"What?" he asks. "You were seriously going to let this maniac hitch a ride? Possibly with a family with little kids? That's nuts. You're lucky to have me as your moral compass."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It's official: I'm now the kind of person who drags dead bodies out into the woods and buries them in a shallow grave. Didn't see that coming.
Seth and I both are taking a "maybe this isn't so cool" attitude toward the whole situation, but Harriett and Maraud seem perfectly fine with it. I do have to admit that if I'd later heard about Pulp going on some kind of killing spree, I would've felt personally responsible, so I guess it's for the best that Maraud made the tough decision for us.
During the burial process, Maraud doesn't say anything about keeping Reggie's body, or even taking pictures of it, as proof that our assassination was successful. I'm pretty sure he knows that it was bullshit. I'm surprised he hasn't brought it up yet, but I'm not going to be the one to instigate that conversation. It'll happen.
Yes, we search their corpses. They're both carrying wallets, and their Florida driver's licenses indicate that their names are Reginald Waters and Jerry White, so they weren't lying about that. Reggie isn't wearing an eye patch in his photo. I don't know what to read into that. Between them, they've got sixty-two dollars, which we take, along with their credit cards. Jerry is an organ donor, so I feel bad about that.
We bury their bodies separately from their wallets, to make them harder to identify if they're discovered.
After the dark deed is done, Maraud and Seth head off in separate directions to pee. Harriett and I return to the truck and sit down on the ground next to it.
"You seem distressed," Harriett observes.
"Yeah."
"They weren't high quality human beings."
"I know."
"If I'd been consulted in the matter, I wouldn't have broken their necks, but now that it's done, you have to agree that we're safer."