The Fort (9 page)

“You looked like you kind of shut down for a second there. I know it’s been a little crazy around here lately. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“No,” said Tim, really wondering if he was making the right choice now. “Everything is fine.”

He was wrong.

When Tim got to the fort there were two bottle caps lying at the base of the ladder, Sprite and Coke. He threw down his own Budweiser cap, then began to climb up. When he got to the top, he saw Scott and Luke sitting together and staring at something Scott was holding. “Took you long enough,” said Scott. “We’ve been waiting for what felt like forever.”

Closer to them now, Tim could see what Scott was holding: a new air rifle, or was it—

“It’s the real thing, Tim,” said Luke. “A real rifle.” He held up a cartridge. It had a small copper bullet, along with a smooth brass casing. “Here’s yours,” Luke continued, before handing Tim the bullet. “We all get to shoot it once, and we’re going to have a rock-paper-scissors tournament to see who shoots first.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tim asked. “If we get caught shooting back here, that’s going to be the end of summer.”

“You’re telling me,” said Scott. “That’s Carl’s gun. If he knew I took it, much less fired it, I think he might just decide it would be easier to kill me than to come up with a big enough punishment.”

“So why did you take it?”

“Because we all want to shoot at that target. And besides, we’re not going to be hurting anybody. We’re going to shoot the gun three times, break it back down, and then walk to my house to put it away. We don’t even have to clean it, because it’s still dirty from when Carl sighted it in.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“We’re going to shoot it either way,” said Luke, who from the sound of his voice had forgotten the problems of the day prior. “Whether you want to or not. We’re not going to get caught,
either. Almost all of the noise will be absorbed by the fort, and that thing’s not going to be much louder than our air rifles. I already beat Scott at rock-paper-scissors, so you have to go against me to see who gets the first shot, and then the loser will go against Scott to see who shoots second. Are you in, or are you out?”

“In,” said Tim with a grin, and Luke and Tim squared off in the center of the fort, while Scott, cradling the rifle, said, “Best two out of three.” Luke had his right fist set down on his upturned palm, and Tim did the same, still grinning. “One, two, three,” the boys said together, and Luke stayed with rock, while Tim opted for scissors.

They repeated the action again, this time with Tim pulling rock and Luke going scissors. The final outcome was determined when Tim defeated Luke with paper over rock. “We should have flipped coins or something,” said Luke, a dark look on his face.

“No sour grapes,” said Scott, laughing. “You agreed that this was the fairest way to decide who went first. You ready to see who goes second?”

“Yeah,” said Luke, the dark look already fading. “I beat you once, Scotty, I can beat you again.”

“All right, then, here we go,” said Scott. “Best two out of three.”

17

Amy was into the woods like a wild and finally loosed animal. Hooper was fit, but still had trouble keeping up with her, losing her visually only to find her a nerve-shattering second later, over and over again. Branches tugged at his skin, and brambles and thorns stuck in his shirt and hair, but he noticed none of the pain, ignoring everything except her.

She ran with an awkward gait, scrambling this way and that in a blind panic, tearing through trees seemingly at random, but heading toward the drive-in movie theater. If she made it there before him, there would be space for her to move in almost any direction, and if there was someone working, maintenance most likely, he would be forced to kill that person, and maybe even kill her too.

The cap and glasses were barely staying on his head, and Hooper kept having to fix them with his hands. If ever there was a time when he wished he were wearing a disguise, this was it, but the ball cap and sunglasses would have to do. The pistol was growing heavy in his hand. He’d never have chosen it as a carry piece, but in the time of need it had been his only option.
When I catch her and get her back to the house, I’m going to beat the shit out of her, and I’m going to fuck her every which way but loose.
The thought of punishing her lent speed to his legs, and for the first time since the chase had begun, Hooper began gaining ground on her.

She slowed as she crossed a small creek—sharp rocks don’t go well with bare feet, figured Hooper. He almost had her then, but she must have sensed it, picking up the pace as his fingers nearly touched her back. She darted away from his touch as though he had poison running through his veins. It was painful to see Amy running away from him all over again.

Finally, she leapt over a downed tree, and must have twisted her ankle or caused some other injury to herself, because she screamed and went down. Hooper winced at the sound and then hopped over the log, letting the Colt lead the way. Her eyes went a mile wide at the sight of it, and she backed up tight against the log.

“You need to shut the fuck up right now,” said Hooper. “Unless you want to get shot, get your ass up.” The gag had fallen out of her mouth at some point during the chase, and she was heaving air into and out of her lungs so quickly that Hooper was scared she might hyperventilate. “C’mon, it ain’t all that bad. Get up and relax a little bit. You’re going to pass out if you don’t.”

She screamed again then, and Hooper slapped her with the hand not holding the pistol. The noise stopped immediately, and he held up his hand like he might do it again if she gave him reason enough to. “You good?” She nodded, and Hooper knew he had her.

Amy led the way, Hooper walking behind her with the pistol buried in her back. She was no longer crying, and seemed to Hooper almost resigned to what was happening. Her dark hair hung in matted strands, and, not for the first time, Hooper ached to wash her. She wasn’t street trash like the rest of them. He wanted Amy clean, he needed her sparkling, done up and polished, but not as slutty as when he’d picked her up. All those things were going to happen once they got out of the goddamn woods, Hooper
promised himself. It was time to break her, to make her give herself to him. He’d gotten lucky in catching her, but she’d gotten luckier by momentarily escaping. He couldn’t wait to get home and figure out how she’d done it, and he knew that with the stuff he’d bought today, it wasn’t going to be happening again.

18

Luke had beaten Scott after falling behind one–nothing and then scoring twice with paper to get the victory. Scott soured momentarily, but Luke perked up after the win.

Tim had been given the rifle, a single bullet, and a magazine to put the bullet into. Though the gun was semiauto, the boys hadn’t even had to discuss firing it in such a way, as that would almost undoubtedly bring angry parents, or worse, down on them.

Tim slid the little bullet into the magazine and then pushed the magazine into the AR-7’s tiny mag well, where it clicked into place with the satisfying sound of oiled metal on metal. “I pull this back to rack it, right?” Tim asked, and Scott nodded. Tim did so and was surprised at the effort it took. Then, once it was as far back as it could be pulled, he let go of the charging handle. It snapped back into place, and the gun was ready. “I’m kind of nervous,” said Tim. “Now that we’re really doing it. What if it’s, like, super loud?”

“It won’t be,” said Luke. “You saw how little the bullet was. It’s going to be loud to us, but only because we’re stuck in here. Somebody outside will just think it’s a firecracker.” Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Even better, they’ll think it’s just more thunder.”

Dad was right
, Tim thought as he laid the barrel of the .22 on the windowsill.
I guess it is going to storm.

He slowly shrugged his body around the gun, with his chin laid on the stock, just like they did with their air rifles. His finger was still off the trigger when it thundered again, louder this time, making him jump. Tim rested the barrel of the gun on the bottom of the windowsill and watched the front sight stop shaking in front of him. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then began to acquire the target.

Luke was on his right side, Scott on his left, and the other boys were watching the target, wishing it was their turn, and waiting for the crack of the rifle.

The blade of the front sight was hovering between the ears of the rear sight, floating up and down with Tim’s heartbeat, settling over the target, then leaving, then coming back to the center of the target. Not making a good shot when he got only one try would be a colossal failure, and Tim took in a breath, let half of it out, and slowly began to pull back on the trigger. It was creaking under his finger, moving ever so slowly backward, when Luke whispered, “Holy shit. Look.”

“I’m trying to aim,” said Tim. “We’re all going to get a turn, so you don’t need to be a dick about it.”

“Seriously,” whispered Luke. “Look in the pines over there. Tell me I’m not crazy.” Scott and Tim both did, though Tim left the gun pointed more or less at the target, and blindly made it safe with his fingers. They both saw it at the same time, and as the man and the woman emerged from the pines, less than thirty yards from where they were sitting, they knew that Luke wasn’t crazy.

The woman was crying, had black curly hair, and was being pushed ahead by the man. He had something in her back, though none of them could tell what, and when it thundered again they all jumped. It was obvious to all three of the boys that the girl was Molly Peterson, or someone who looked a great deal like her,
but the man’s features were indistinguishable. Rain began to fall in the forest, and they could see two things: Molly and the man were heading back to somewhere in the suburban neighborhood where Scott and Tim lived, and the man was pressing a gun into her back.

“You have to shoot him, Tim,” said Luke. “Like, right now.” Tim felt as though he’d been punched in the face. You were never supposed to point a gun at someone else, but on the other hand, the man was pointing a gun at Molly. “This might be her only chance,” hissed Luke, louder now, as the rain began to fall more forcefully. “If you can’t do it, give me the goddamn gun.”

The next moments would last forever in Tim’s mind, as the world slowed around him. He shouldered the rifle, put the front sight over the center of the man’s back, and flicked the safety off. His finger began to tense on the trigger, and he let out a deep breath, then moved away from the window and fumbled the gun to Luke and Scott. Scott was pale, backing away from the rifle as if it were on fire, and Luke took the weapon. “I can’t do it,” said Tim, with tears already beginning to stream from his face. “I just can’t do it.”

“I can,” said Luke, as he lay the gun on the fort’s windowsill, quickly took aim, and fired.

The bullet hit the man in his right calf. He screamed, and Luke fumbled trying to get another bullet chambered. He had the magazine out, but bobbled the round and dropped it onto the floor of the fort. Finally, his fingers found it, and with shaking hands, he slid the bullet into the magazine. “They’re gone,” said Scott flatly, and when Luke looked up he saw that it was true. Rain was falling heavily now among the trees, and there was no sign of them. It was as if they’d never been there at all.

“We need to get this gun back to my house,” said Scott. “And then we need to call the police.” He looked for the empty brass on the floor of the fort, but gave up quickly—it could have been anywhere. “Now, we need to go now!”

19

Hooper felt the bullet before he heard it. It was a sharp, stinging pain, and when it was followed by the distinctive crack of a rifle, he was immediately sure that he’d been shot. He screamed, bellowing with everything he had in his body, but the worst part wasn’t the pain, it was the look on her face. Amy was smiling. She looked beautiful, utterly vivacious and full of life, so happy to see him suffering.
I’ll remember this, you little bitch.

Hooper staggered from the pain, then got his legs back under him and forced himself to fight the instinct to look for where the shot had come from. Instead, he bit into his cheek, hard, pushed the gun harder into her back, and moved her into thicker brush, popples, brambles, and prickers.

It wasn’t a direct line to the house, not anymore, but Hooper figured that was OK. Someone had seen him, and known that what was happening was bad enough to risk shooting at an armed man. Hooper wished he could see who’d done it and kill him, shoot him in the stomach and watch him die like a dog. Did he understand the lengths Hooper had gone to get Amy, to keep her? Why would anyone want to take something away from a stranger? Hooper understood the risks law enforcement, posed but hated to
imagine the kind of person who would try and take someone like Amy away from him. He had, after all, already lost her once.

Once they were hidden among the trees, Hooper took a minute to listen. It would have been easy for someone to have pursued them to this point, but the brush they were in now was thick enough that no one was going to be able to just sneak up on them. He gave a look to his leg, leaving the gun pointed at Amy’s back. There was a little hole in his jeans, and he was bleeding, but not much, at least not yet. Not ready to see the hole, Hooper pulled the front of his pant leg up, hoping to see that the bullet had passed through, and winced when he saw that it hadn’t.
That’s not good.