“Are you forgetting Betsy and Patti?”
“They’re not serious contenders. They’re window dressing, which you know as well as I do. Troy and I are your competition and you can’t stand to lose. You want that award so badly, you’d do anything.”
“I can’t believe you’re accusing me.”
“Well, I am.”
Austin’s voice dropped. “Take it back.”
“No. Nuhn-un. No can do.”
“Are you out of your mind? First you threaten me with the tape and now you pull this? You can’t accuse me of shit like this.”
“I just did. What do you think, Bayard? Does it sound reasonable to you?”
Bayard looked from Sloan to Austin. “Actually, it does. I never thought of you as a tattletale until Austin made his claim.”
“Fritz?” Sloan asked, turning to him. “What’s your inclination? Is Austin guilty or innocent?”
“Hey. I want no part of this,” Fritz said. He laughed uneasily, hoping Austin wouldn’t rope him in any further.
Austin leaned down to the dirt piled up near the hole he’d dug. He grabbed a handful of soil. “Eat this.”
Sloan laughed, incredulous. “I’m not going to eat that. You eat it.”
Austin grabbed Sloan by the hair and yanked her head back. He lifted his fist and tried to force dirt into her mouth, but she shifted her head so the dirt tumbled to the ground. Sloan made a sound in her throat and Fritz felt his heart start to bang in his chest. It was clear Austin hadn’t pictured this part of the confrontation. He probably imagined himself prevailing, stronger, quicker, and more dominant, but Sloan had a will of her own. She was accustomed to contact sports and she wasn’t afraid of impact. She kicked at him, a swift, savage delivery with the toe of her hard-soled shoe striking him in the shin. Fritz backed up a step, not wanting to get caught in the cross fire.
Bayard had both hands in front of him, gesturing downward as though he could diminish the conflict by sheer dint of will. “Hey, come on. Don’t do this. Let it go. Let’s everyone just calm down, okay?”
Fritz was spellbound, paralyzed by indecision. Violence was usually directed at him by reason of his father’s temper and his quickness to strike out. His automatic response was an accelerated heartbeat, which is what happened now. Fight or flight were two options, but Fritz was in the habit of rolling over and playing dead.
A silence fell as Austin and Sloan fought on with a series of grunts and the occasional cry of pain. Sloan was getting the best of him, but Austin was tough in his way and not one to give up. The two paused. Sloan was panting, blood trickling from her nose. Field sports had taught her to fight hard and she wasn’t afraid of pain. Austin assumed in a pitched battle with a girl, he’d have size and weight on his side, but Sloan was strong and well-muscled. And she was mad. Austin was sweating with the effort. He reached down for a broken limb and smacked it against a rock. The branch splintered, leaving a gaping wound of raw wood. He was upping the ante, ratcheting up the game. Sloan backed up and then got a running start, heading straight at him at full speed. She lowered her shoulder and plowed into him before Austin could put up a defense. She was on her feet in an instant and when he regained his balance, she shoved him hard. He went down on his butt and Sloan started to run.
Austin screamed, “Fritz!”
Sloan reached the near side of the clearing where a tangle of construction debris provided screening. Fritz didn’t have time to think. A wonderful clarity sharpened his perception. The darkness limited the visual information coming to him, so all he had to work with was the sound of her running. He felt expansive, puffed up, all instinct with no time to reflect. For a moment, he was free of self-consciousness, free of worry, free of any concern about other people’s opinion of him. He knew this was what combat felt like: intense, immediate, and base. Austin seemed to fade, Bayard disappeared, and Fritz was left with a thrilling sense of the present. Sloan pounded into the woods.
Fritz could see that she’d disappear within another ten or fifteen steps. His hands were shaking so hard the gun nearly flipped out of his grasp. He pushed off the safety and chambered a round. He held the gun in both hands, doing a fair imitation of a police officer facing a thug. He fired, bearing down with his trigger finger so the bullets sprayed the underbrush, cutting a line as though someone were trimming brush with a weed whacker. In the darkness, he could hear Sloan running and he followed the sound of her crashing across the terrain, gasping now and then as though she might have tripped. He could hear her humming with fear and sorrow. He zeroed in on the noise, anticipating her path. She didn’t even know enough to zigzag like they did in the movies, dodging bullets, as though that were possible in real life. He wasn’t thinking about what he did, only that he was suddenly competent, filled with a feeling of power. There was a brief shriek and then he heard her hit the ground. Silence after that. He turned to Austin with a flash of triumph. “Whoa, baby! We did it, man.”
Exhilarated, he looked at the Astra in wonder. “Wow! This thing has power. Did you see that? I thought it would jump out of my hand. That is so cool.” He whooped with excitement, reveling in his accomplishment. He glanced at Austin, expecting an “Attaboy!”
“Shit. What did you do that for? Now we’re screwed.”
Caught off guard, Fritz stared at Austin with bewilderment. “You told me to shoot.”
“I did not! I wanted you to stop her, not shoot her. Now get out there and find her and we’ll see how bad she’s hurt. Here, take this.” He passed Fritz the flashlight and gave him a push.
“I couldn’t have hit her. I was just ‘bang, bang, bang,’ you know? I don’t think I scored.”
“What, like you won a stuffed monkey? You better hope not.”
“But she’s faking, right?”
“Would you get out there and find her! Shit, I can’t believe you’re this incompetent. What are you looking at me for? Go see if she’s okay.”
Fritz turned on the flashlight. The beam was strong and seemed to wash all of the color from the landscape. He was hyped. Adrenaline flooded his system and he felt charged with excitement. It was an energy he’d never experienced before, what he imagined cocaine or heroin must be like. His whole body felt light, like he’d levitated, like he was outside himself looking on. Austin was nothing. He was nobody. Fritz was larger than life.