John Gilstrap - At all costs

Darkness proved a formidable adversary as they picked their way cautiously toward the road, down the side of the hill. Loose rocks and coiled vines made footing treacherous, reaching out in the dark to force a fall. Excepting some dusty backsides, they all made it down without incident.

One of the challenges Jake had feared most was crossing the highway in the open to get to the far side, where the terrain was considerably flatter. A trio of people traveling by foot in the dark was bound to raise suspicion. As it turned out, the road was clear, and they crossed easily, dashing to the cover of the tree line on the other side. From there, they once again battled with darkness to walk the remaining three-quarters of a mile to the end of their journey.

By eleven-thirty, they were in position, more or less directly across the street from the pickup point. They huddled fifteen or twenty feet inside the tree line, invisible in the mottled moon shadows, and watched as the occasional car passed in front of the sheer rock face that defined the opposite shoulder of the road. Now, if they could just get warm…

After a day of being patient, the last half hour felt longer than the previous half day. No one spoke now, each choosing instead to listen to the stillness of the night-trying in vain to hear the hum of an approaching engine through the vibrating chorus of night creatures. As a single raccoon foraged for his dinner in a nearby drainage ditch, no one moved. A screech owl pierced the night with its haunting imitation of a crying child.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake hissed, checking his watch. The luminescent green hands and numbers seemed exceptionally bright. “Where is this guy? He’s late.”

Carolyn gave him a disapproving glare. “What time is it?”

“Eleven fifty-seven.”

“Then he’s not late,” Travis whispered, stealing his mother’s thunder. “He said midnight sharp. It’s not midnight yet.”

“Close enough,” Jake grumped.

“Relax, Jake,” Carolyn said, a surprisingly calm tone masking her racing heart and fragile nerves. “Harry won’t let us down.”

Three minutes later, straight-up at midnight, a late-model white Cadillac pulled to a stop across the street, about a hundred yards short of them. “That’s it!” Jake whispered. “Let’s go.” He tried to step forward, but Carolyn and Travis pulled him back by his jacket.

“Not yet,” Travis scolded. “He hasn’t lit his cigarette. Uncle Harry said to wait for the cigarette.”

Jake pulled his jacket out of their hands. “Oh, for crying out loud. It’s him! How many white cars do you think are scheduled to show up at this spot precisely at midnight? Jesus!”

“But Harry’s instructions were exact!” Carolyn protested. “He said to wait until…”

Jake was done listening. He was tired, and he was wet. For the last thirty-six hours, he’d done nothing but follow Carolyn’s orders. Do this. Do that. Stop here. Don’t stop here. He was sick of it! Soon, he’d have Mr. Congeniality, Harry Sinclair, to deal with, too.

He hefted the two money bags and started for the car.

Fighting the urge to duck and dash around shadows, he opted to stroll out of the woods as normally as possible for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. Halfway there, he turned and beckoned for his family to join him, amazed at how thoroughly the shadows obliterated their images. He motioned, yet they didn’t move.

“Come on!” he whisper-shouted. “Let’s get this over with!” He waved at them one more time and they finally emerged from their camouflage, looking anxiously over both shoulders as they scurried to join him.

“Relax, Carolyn. You look like you just robbed a bank.”

“I feel like I just robbed a bank.” She sounded close to tears. “I don’t like this. Harry said…”

Carolyn fell silent, and they stopped dead in their tracks as the Cadillac pulled smoothly away from the narrow shoulder.

“What the hell is he doing?” Jake gasped. He fought the urge to call after him.

Then they saw it. First, as a wash of headlights, then as a blue and white Ford with a light bar. West Virginia State Police.

“Oh, shit!” Jake hissed. “It’s a setup.”

“No!” Carolyn insisted. “Not from Harry.”

“What are we gonna do?” Travis whined.

They were completely out in the open, too far from the tree line to make it back without being seen. Whatever they were going to do, they had to get it done in the next five seconds, or this would all be over. “The ditch!” Jake declared, pointing.

Moving as one, they dashed the three steps to the drainage ditch that ran parallel to the road, and dove in, sliding face-first in the gooey runoff and road trash.

Jake thought his chest might explode as he lay there, his eyes closed tight against the fear, listening as the cruiser drove past. If the cop spotted them, they were done. Even his gun was useless. He couldn’t get to it in time for it to do any good.

No one moved, even after the sound of the engine disappeared. A good minute passed before Travis broke the silence. “Is he gone?”

Jake sneaked his head above the ditch and slipped his hand to the grip of his pistol. Nothing but empty road, twisting out of sight in both directions. “Clear,” he announced at a whisper. “Back to the trees!”

Jake grabbed Carolyn’s hand, and she grabbed Travis’s as they scurried back to the shadows and collapsed into the bushes.

“Oh, my God,” Carolyn breathed. “I told you to wait!” She hit Jake in the chest, hard enough to hurt.

He said nothing. When you’re right, you’re right.

“Do you think he saw us?” Travis whined.

“No,” Carolyn said unequivocally.

Jake wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know. Even if he saw us, he might not have stopped. We’re armed and dangerous, remember?”

No one was sure what to do next. Their ride was gone, the police were cruising the area, and they were stuck in the middle of nowhere at midnight, without transportation. Five minutes passed.

“Do you think he’s coming back?” Jake asked.

“Who, the cop or our ride?”

Jake shrugged. “Pick one.”

Again, Travis answered for his mom. “I’m guessing: ride, yes; cop, not for a while.”

Jake rumpled his hair, drawing an annoyed look. “I like the way you think.” Two more minutes passed. Then three. Then five. “This isn’t good,” Jake whispered.

When Carolyn and Travis both missed their cue to argue, Jake’s spirits slipped even further. Suddenly, capture seemed imminent. And what exactly would capture mean? Certain jail time, he figured, for decades, at least, if not life-or maybe even death. For the first time in years, Jake’s mind recalled a tour he’d taken of a police station back when he was a Cub Scout-maybe ten years old. The best part of the tour had been the weapons locker, with all the rifles, pistols, and shotguns lined up like soldiers at attention; but the tour also included a peek at the detention cells, with their peeling paint and their metal beds and their toilets without any privacy. Even after all these years, Jake could clearly remember the tour guide reciting the dimensions of those steel-and-concrete boxes: six-by-eight. He didn’t even know what the numbers meant back then, but he knew that it meant small. And he hated small.

You could suffocate in a cage that small.

In fact, of the entire Cub Scout den, he alone refused to cross the threshold to “try the cell on for size,” as the cop had said. He knew how much other kids liked to fool around, and he remembered feeling terrified that one of them might think it would be funny to close the door on him. Even if they’d been able to find a key, there’d have been those minutes-however few-when he would have been locked alone in a tiny room, with everyone watching him and laughing at him as he sobbed and begged for them to let him out.