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“But… won’t that make us, like, accomplices? Or whatever?”
“I dunno, man. I didn’t go to law school. What the fuck you think I look like?”
“Fuck you. It’s not like….” High Pitch trails off.
“What?” Low Voice asks.
“What’s that on the door handle?”
The pair of feet nearest me turns to face the truck. “What the hell? It looks like blood. Are you bleeding or something?”
“I think I’d know if I was bleeding.”
I close my eyes, feeling the tacky blood on my hands. I hadn’t even thought of it. The rain hasn’t washed it completely away. I wait for High Pitch and Low Voice to drop to their knees to look under the truck. They are quiet as if contemplating what they are looking at, and I slowly pull the small knife from my pocket. If they find me, I’ll take someone’s eye with me, that’s for damn sure.
And just when I think I can’t take it anymore, there’s another voice.
“What are you two doing?” Griggs snarls from the mouth of the cave. “Get the fuck back to work!”
They hurry off back toward Griggs, and I lift my head, watching their feet. All three pairs turn back into the cave, Griggs snapping at both of them, though I can’t hear what they’re saying. I have to stop myself from getting up right now and running after Griggs, burying the knife in his neck over and over again until all of his blood is on the cave floor and I know he’s dead. He killed my father on Christie’s orders. I will see them both dead by my hands.
Wake up, my father says. Wake up.
I almost don’t want to. I want to stay in this black-and-red haze and follow them into the cave and kill them before they kill me. I want to cause as much damage as possible before someone pulls a gun and shoots me through the head. They must suffer for what they’ve done.
It’s a test, Cal whispers, that familiar rumble causing my heart to ache. It’s a test, Benji. You must not fall into the black. You can’t go there.
“Cal,” I moan, closing my eyes. My hands start to shake. “Please, Cal. Come back. Don’t be gone. Please come back.”
I don’t hear anything other than the rain.
Without thinking, I roll out from underneath the truck and stand. I pull on the handle, and the door opens. The inside of the cab is warm. The keys aren’t in the ignition, nor on the seat. I flip down the sun visor. Nothing. They keys aren’t here. Low Voice or High Pitch has them. This was a mistake. I can’t use the truck. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here. Now. Now.
I close the door behind me as quietly as possible. I use my sleeve to wipe away the blood and grime my fingers left on the handle. I move around to the front of the truck, gripping the pocketknife in my hand. I’m about to cross back to the shack when I pause. If I’m going to make it, I can’t use this old road. It’ll be too easy for them to fin
d me. The distance back to town is too great, the bridge too far away. I’ll have to go through the woods to where Cal fell from the sky. Where my father died.
They can still beat me around in the truck, I think. I won’t be fast enough.
I grip the knife in my hand and go back to the driver’s side. The knife is sharp, well cared for. Abe said he could never let the blade become dull because it’d feel like he’d sullied his wife’s memory. “Always keep it sharp,” he’d told me quietly. “It helps me remember.”
“Thank you, old man,” I whisper out loud. I tighten my grip around the handle and stab the tire repeatedly. It takes a moment; the tire is thick. But eventually, after hitting the same place repeatedly, the knife goes through the rubber. I do the same thing in three other places, the air hissing steadily.
Low Voice and High Pitch return, carrying crates covered in blankets. I crouch down at the front of the truck and wait until they go back into the cave. Once they’re out of sight, I do the same to the left tire. They won’t go completely flat, not for some time, but it’ll slow them down when they attempt to drive the truck. It has to be enough. For now.
I hobble back toward the shack, moving as fast as I can. I move past the propane tanks and press my back against the wall near the door, out of sight from the truck and the cave. Down the hill behind the shack, the woodland stretches out, intimidating, like the biggest forest I’ve ever seen. The river is about a mile away, maybe less. I don’t know how much time I’ll have before they come back to the shed to find me gone. If I’m not on the road, they’ll know I’m in the woods. With my ankle slowing me down, it might be easier for them to catch up with me. I’m fucked either way. I should hole up somewhere nearby and wait for them to leave, but I don’t know if there’s anyone in the cave with them who I haven’t seen yet. I don’t know how many people are in on this. For all I know, Walken is already on his way up.
Distraction. I need a distraction.
What I need is for them to die.
The wind blows and metal rattles against metal. The propane tanks, stacked against the shack. Completely full. I don’t have matches. I don’t have a lighter. I don’t have a gun to shoot them, though that might only happen in movies.
Something creaks inside the shack.
Abe is awake, I think, even though I know he’s dead.
I open the door to the shack. Abe still lies on the floor, unmoving. The two old light bulbs overhead swing on their wires. Rain pounds the roof. There’s no—
