Chapter Fifteen
On Curtis’ porch, they wait for lightning, knowing if it does not come in the next couple of minutes, she will have to go on faith that the gun will fire. Every second she wastes here, her son, her husband, and the others face the probability of being shot. She feels this responsibility in every cell of her body. In this brief pause, she admits to herself she will probably die tonight. Her family will probably die tonight. Please, for Jimmy, let him go first; let it be quick. How odd to know this in advance: to watch death approaching and to see that death comes not on a majestic pale horse at all, but on the wings of a whim, in a moment when someone asked shall we go fishing? How arbitrary. Who lives, who dies, each day - how arbitrary - and how pitifully frantic we are to make sense of it, to make order of it, to make it understandable when it simply isn’t. And then, standing on Curtis’ porch immune to the cold and the wet Alison asks for one thing from the universe - if Hank and Jimmy die, please me too. I cannot live knowing I had the chance and I could not save them. And I cannot live without them. I will not. She knows that it is this truth that is giving her the strength to fight. She doubts these men will leave witnesses. She will gladly take a shot to the heart rather than hold her dead family in her arms. She knows what her odds are against three vicious men. Her strength comes not so much from a belief that she will be able to kill the bad guys and save the day, but more from an unconscious resolution to live together or die together. That is her truth. She has no illusions about who she is, or about how this will end. And it is this understanding that calms her. It will play out as it must.
Curtis says, “You’ll need to get close. You may only get one shot.”
She nods. They wait loaded and ready.
Then, quietly, to no one, “Nothing in my life has prepared me for this.”
“You can’t prepare for this.”
She cannot wait too much longer. Each passing second the drive to confirm her family is still alive pumps more adrenaline into her body. One more minute.
She asks him, “What happened to your legs?” Odd, she thinks, this would have been a question she was too polite to ask before this night. Tonight there are no social rules.
“Firefighter.”
“Oh. Something collapsed on you?”
“I was putting out a blaze in the hood and some gang kid used me for target practice.” She turns her eyes to him and sees Curtis for the first time as a person sitting on the porch. The crusty delivery of his words does not veil the betrayal. He is looking away into the distant dark nothingness. She reaches out and touches his shoulder. It is a fleeting gesture. It is what she has always done unconsciously. Sometimes it is a gentle brush of her hand on another’s arm as she engages in conversation; sometimes it is a little squeeze as she laughs, or a tiny push away meant to pull nearer. She penetrates the personal glass shell and just that simple contact draws people to her over the natural bridge it forms. He does not look back at her, but he feels being touched for the first time in years.
She turns her eyes out into the same darkness that holds his gaze as says quietly to herself, “The world is not what I thought it was.”
“Me, either.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Eight years.”
“It seems it would be harder to live here without assistance than back in the world.”
“The world’s the problem.”
“Yeah.”
A crack of lightning strikes her to attention. She aims at a tree in front.
She counts, “One banana, two banana, three banana, four bana…”
She pulls the trigger simultaneously with the thunderclap. The timing is perfect. The gun jerks back and fires. Yes! It fires. She is thrilled and ready to bolt toward the lodge. Curtis stops her.
“Aim for the chest and keep firing until he goes down. Don’t stop firing until he’s down.”
“Yes.”
“If you can, find a way to use the gun as a last resort. Surprise is your only advantage right now.” Even though her chin shakes, she is focused like a laser on what he is saying. “If you come up against one of them in close contact, go for the eyes. Anything else will be useless for you.”
She repeats, “Eyes.”
“Don’t hesitate. Don’t hold back. Take this.” He hands her a knife. She puts it in her belt. “Check the storage shed. Hobbs had a lot of shit in there. Use your brain. It’s your best asset.”
“Yes.” She leaps off the porch and vanishes into the woods. He will wait for the gunfire and then he’ll know it’s over. He, too, understands the odds. He has stayed reclusive in these woods so his mind and emotions would remain as insensate as his legs. He has been at peace here, but he has not been alive. Having Alison blast into his consciousness has clarified that. She is what alive looks like. Seeing her run heedlessly into the woods is really no different from when he would run into a burning building. And while it has been his life’s goal not to care again, he cannot deny his need to see her survive, to succeed. He wants something today. He hasn’t wanted anything in such a long time. It feels peculiar. He wants her to win and he knows precisely how unlikely that is. If there’s any justice in the universe this young mom running around bloody and half-mad trying to save her family should win, but justice is accidental. Most of the women he’s ever known would have crawled crying into a hole and waited it out - hell, most men would have, too. Maybe that’s exactly what he has done.
In the lodge, Ben processes the problem with the carburetor float. Can he fix it? Should he try to replace it? He just loves puzzles. He decides to check the tool bench outside on the porch. He rises from where he’s been working on the floor. Every time one of the Burne brothers moves the hostages tense. Ben feels their fear. He’s embarrassed for them; what a pathetic little group of rodents. He opens the front door and steps out onto the porch. To the left, up against the building, is a tool bench. He lifts the top and searches inside. Alison creeps up onto the porch and aligns herself along one of the log posts. She slips the knife from her belt. She closes it into her fist, but wait, the stabbing needs to be down, and so she turns the grip in her hand so the blade points down. Jesus, she thinks. Oh, god, can I do this? Her throat is so tight she cannot swallow her own saliva. She closes her eyes and brings Jimmy’s face to mind. Her arm and leg muscles contract. Adrenaline floods her forcing her heart to pump harder. Every pore in her body opens and she becomes instantly clammy. She prepares to strike.
Bent over the tool bench, Ben raises his eyes. He senses her. He spins around. Methodically, he scans the woods in front. She is not visible only feet from him. Ben smirks at himself; too much time in the pen has his antenna’s working overtime. He returns his attention to the toolbox.
She runs through it: three quick steps, plunge it in. It’ll be gory. He might yell. Have to hope he doesn’t. So close though. Not like sending someone over a cliff. She lays her eyes on exactly the point in his back where she will do it. This is it! Go. She yells inside. Do it! She wills her feet to move. She grips the knife. Go! Frustration builds toward explosion! She is paralyzed.
Ben chooses a small metal piece he hopes he can make work. He flips the cover down on the tool bench and walks back inside the lodge closing the door. Alison smacks her head against the post in defeat. Her opportunity. She hits her head hard enough to bring a lump, but she doesn’t feel it. Shit! Rage engulfs her. She wants to scream aloud! She screams inside so hard and long that her face goes red and then blue, her muscles shake with unrestrained energy.
Minutes later, inside Hobbs’ cabin talking to Curtis, she is livid with herself. “He was right there! The first guy was chasing me. It just happened.” She begins to whine in trembling anger. “I had the knife. I couldn’t make my arm move, or my feet move.” She is nearly hysterical.
“Don’t melt down, Alison. Killing isn’t easy for most of us.”
“Goddamn it. God, god…”
“The other guy was kind of an accident. This is different. First, calm down.”
“Ughhh…” an animal like cry.
“You have to outthink them. Use what is on hand. Check the shed. I’ll keep trying to reach someone. The storm is lifting. It’s all I can do. I’ll keep trying. Go.”
She hates herself. That may have been her only opportunity, her best chance, and she failed. She has failed to save her child. Fear has been replaced with fury. Anger is the framework now supporting her, now keeping her from collapse. Anger is at least useful. She leaves the cabin and heads for the shed, which is about fifteen yards from the lodge on the path up from the dock. Be smart. Be smarter. Her feet have learned the terrain with exceptional speed. She knows instantly what is solid and what only looks solid. Like any animal in danger, her awareness is heightened and her muscle memory is flawless. Moving with alacrity and experience she has become a competent forest animal. She sneaks inside the shed. It is a tin structure. A countertop runs along three sides and holds what must be hundreds of screws, nails, saws, tools of all kinds. She finds a flashlight, very useful, as the floodlights from the lodge are quite dim here. She covers the light so it only casts a direct beam. She flips it on. There are old motors, anchors, clamps, ropes, what looks like a generator. The side wall has hooks holding fishing nets and lures. On the far wall on larger metal hooks various fishing poles, a harpoon, and several axes all orange with rust.
Ben tries to make one of the little metal parts he found in the tool bench work in the carburetor. Gravel snores on the sofa. The hostages, worn from terror, sit together in the corner. Kent flips through a book. Ben glances at the group. He watches as Jimmy realizes his foot is touching Bella. He pulls it back and presses against his dad. Ben rises from the floor. He slowly walks over to Jimmy. Electrified, the group tenses.
Ben speaks to Jimmy, “Hey, kid.” Jimmy looks up scared. “Is that really your mother?” He indicates Bella. Jimmy doesn’t know what to say. “Because I’m curious why you’d say it was if it wasn’t.”
Hank answers calmly, “It’s his stepmom. We’ve only just married.”
Bella adds quickly, “Jimmy is having a problem accepting me.”
“Yeah? Now he’s got bigger problems.” Ben turns away, “Kent?”
“Yup.”
“Go out to the shed and try and find me some metal-to-metal epoxy.” Kent puts on his coat, tucks his gun into his pant belt, and takes the flashlight. Ben continues, “And watch your step.”
“Hey, I’m not Theo. God rest is soul.” Kent makes the sign of the cross and leaves slamming the porch door.
The lodge door slams, instantly Alison flips off the flashlight. Her reflexes are sharpening. She peeks out the crack in the shed door. She sees Kent approaching. Oh, no. He walks slowly, stepping cautiously on the slippery rocks as his eyes adjust slowly to the scattered light and darkness.
She steps back from the door. What? She looks around. Here he comes. This time she will have no choice. Either way this is it. There is nowhere to hide. She looks at the axes and the harpoon. She grabs the harpoon and studies it in the dark. Her eyes are well adjusted. She finds the trigger. It is heavy. Here he comes. She rests her elbow on the countertop to steady it. Will it work? Here he comes. Is there a safety? Where’s the safety? Here he comes. The rain has let up so she hears his sloshing footsteps. It is now. Kent swings open the shed door and steps inside. His flashlight scans the room and hits her standing there pointing the harpoon right at him. Kent stares at her stunned. She is drenched and filthy. He sees her finger on the trigger. “Shit!” He reaches for his gun. She pulls the trigger. Flump! The harpoon spear comes out with so much force it throws her back as it skewers Kent’s chest and nails him to the back wall of the tin shed. His eyes are opened wide. His body jerks in spasms. She steps back horrified. It wasn’t quiet! She had hoped for quiet. Someone screamed. She knows he screamed. Or she screamed. Someone screamed. She begins to tremble convulsively. Yes, he screamed.
Gravel flies out of the lodge his weapon drawn and heading for the shed and at dead run. Alison sees him blast through the opened shed doorway. Think! Gravel is inside shocked to see his brother’s life oozing away pinned to the wall. He spins. And there is Alison.
Dramatically, “Oh god, those men killed this poor man!” She looks skinny and helpless.
“What men?” Gravel is in a fury! “How many?”
“Four.”
“Where are they?”
“There!” She points behind him. He whirls around ready to attack. He peers out from the shed. Alison leaps forward and with what she is sure will be the last move of her life, and with all the force that she can rally, for her husband, for her son, she plunges her knife up to the handle into Gravel’s back. She lets go and steps back expecting him to fall. He does not fall. He does not yell in pain. He turns his crazed eyes to her realizing. With manic rage and sudden speed, he jumps on top of her and they go down.
“Bitch. I’m going to strip your face from your skull while you’re still alive.”
He punches her in the face shattering her cheekbone. She reaches the knife in his back and twists. He rears up painfully. She pulls the handgun from her pants and flat on her back, screaming, she fires into his stomach, and again, and again, and again. He doubles over on top of her. He manages to point his gun at her and she shoots him in the forehead.
The shots echoed! In the lodge, Ben is instantly on his feet.
In Curtis’ cabin, he knows what this means. Engagement. The end. He sweeps his arm across the table throwing everything to the floor. “Damn!” Maybe someone is alive. Maybe her boy is still alive. Maybe someone escaped. What have I become here? What am I?
Gravel lies dead and hemorrhaging on top of her. His shocked and staring eyeballs are inches from her face. Her breaths are coming in short convulsive gasps. Off! Ah—off! She pulls herself out from under him. He is heavy but she slides because of the pooling blood. She continues to aim at his dead body and uses her feet to push away on her back. She sits. She is covered in blood and sweat. Her right cheek is turning deep purple and her eye swells. She struggles to her feet.
Ben slides up next to the front door and yells out, “Gravel?” “Kent?” No response. Wild-eyed, he walks to the hostages. “Who is out there?” No response from the terrified group. Ben grabs Bruce, jerks him to his feet, and shoots him dead. Agonizing screams from the hostages! “Again, who is out there?”
Alison hears the gunshot from inside the lodge. She grabs Gravel’s gun from his dead wet hand. Suddenly, she feels so oddly calm; the lights have been turned off inside of her and she is at peace in the dark. She is not confused. She is not scared. Everything that hurt has stopped hurting.
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