John Gilstrap - Threat warning

Christyne dismissed it out of hand. “They’ll shoot us.”

“Mom, they’re going to shoot us anyway. They said they were going to do it before, and now they almost have to.”

“We need to hide the body,” Christyne said.

“But he’ll start stinking,” Ryan countered. “Especially when they crank that furnace up again in the morning.”

“Maybe he’s just unconscious,” Christyne said.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Look at his face. Have you ever seen a live person look like that?”

She nodded. “Okay,” she conceded. “Okay, he’s dead. We need to do something with him.”

“We can’t put him outside, or people will find him.” Ryan looked around. “Maybe we can hide him under all these boxes and crap.”

“But what if they come looking for him and find that we hid him?” Christyne thought aloud. “Won’t that just make us look that much worse? Anger them that much more?”

“We killed one of their brothers, Mom,” Ryan argued. “I think they’ll pretty much go off-the-charts pissed when they realize that.” He gave her a hard look. “We need to get out of here. We don’t have a choice anymore.”

She looked across the room. “The door’s unlocked,” she said. “Could it be as easy as that?”

He shook his head. “If we get that far and get caught, it’ll all be over.”

Ryan looked up at the ventilation widow, raising the lantern to get a better look.

“There’s no way I can fit through that,” Christyne said.

“I can,” Ryan said. He didn’t know how, but he also knew there was no choice. He started stripping off his jacket to make himself smaller.

“Then what?” Christyne asked.

“I’ll get help.”

It was the best he could do on the fly.

Christyne hesitated, the fear settling deeper into her features. “Suppose they see you?” she asked. “Suppose you get caught?”

He kept stripping the clothes away until he was bare-chested again. Jesus, it was cold. “What difference does it make? They beat the shit out of me just for being here. Whatever they do if I get caught can’t be worse than what they’d do to both of us if we just sit here and wait.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied Ryan’s face. “Where are you going to go for help?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. There were those houses out there before we came through the big gate. Maybe they can help.”

“Maybe they’re part of whatever this is.”

“I could break into an empty one, then. All I need is a phone.”

She was right. He could see that much in her expression; but it had to be a hard decision to let your son out of your sight. He got that. He also got that there was no other alternative.

Then it dawned on him how disgusting it would be to have a dead guy staring at her while he was gone.

While she continued to think it over, Ryan stooped, grabbed two fistfuls of Brother Stephen’s shirt at the shoulder, and started to pull. As soon as the dead man’s shoulders cleared the floor, his head lolled at a horrifying angle back and to the side-as if he were staring over his left shoulder at his own butt-removing any doubt that a broken neck had caused his death. Ryan’s stomach flipped at the sight, and he redirected his eyes to the side.

In the deep reaches of his brain, he felt a pang of awareness that he had actually killed someone. He also realized that he didn’t care. No remorse, no disgust. None of the emotions that he knew were appropriate.

Christyne rose from her bed and scurried four steps to catch up. She stooped and grabbed the assailant’s pant legs to help. “Where are we taking him?”

“Grab his ankles, Mom,” Ryan said, again shifting his gaze. “You’re pulling his pants down more.”

Christyne adjusted her grip and lifted the body’s legs by his ankles. Together they moved the body to the corner opposite the chamber pot. They covered him with a table, and then stacked some boxes around him.

“It doesn’t look like it did before,” Ryan observed when they were done.

Christyne planted her fists on her hips and gave him that look. “Honey, if they come down here, I think the broken window and missing prisoner will clue them into something being wrong.”

“Oh.” Ryan felt his ears flush. “I guess so. How long will it take for him to start to stink?” he asked.

“Long enough,” Christyne said, but he could tell from her expression that she had no idea. “Don’t worry about that. It’s time for something to start breaking our way.”

A moment passed. They all knew what the next step was, but it was a difficult one to take.

Ryan made the first move, heading back toward Christyne’s bed and the ventilation window above it.

“How will you find your way?” asked his mom.

He didn’t look back at her as he answered, “Like you said, something’s got to start breaking our way.” He stood on the bed for a better look at the window. He twisted the latch and pulled the glass panel in. Since it was hinged at the bottom and tilted inward, that panel was the first obstacle to be overcome.

“Blow out the lamp,” he said.

As soon as darkness returned, Ryan leaned farther out from the bed, grabbed the panel with both hands, and then dropped all of his weight. It broke with a frighteningly loud crack.

“Oh, my God,” Christyne hissed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “That was the window.” He’d snapped it quickly because he knew that if he voiced his intention first, she would have wanted to talk about the alternative options. Screw that. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew that the darkness was his only friend out there, and the more of it he preserved, the better his chances for success.

With the window panel out of the way, the night was visible-a charcoal-gray rectangle against a black foreground. If he looked real hard, Ryan could see shadows.

“Are you sure you can fit through that?” Christyne asked.

Ryan was wondering the same thing. It was a ridiculously tiny hole. “Sure I’m sure,” he said.

Christyne grasped his shoulder. “Promise me you won’t come back,” she said.

He gaped.

She chose her words carefully. “When you make your call for help, promise me that you’ll keep going. Promise you won’t come back to help.”

Ryan felt something snag in his gut. He hadn’t thought it through that far, but this wasn’t what he was expecting. “I can’t just leave you behind,” he said. That’s not what Dad would do.

“You won’t be,” Christyne countered. “You’ll be sending help. Makes no sense for you to walk back into danger.”

“How will I know if you’re okay?” he asked.

She looked straight at him. “My Ryan doesn’t fail.”

Tears pressed behind his eyes. He had never heard her say anything like that. He failed all the time.

He needed to say something, but he didn’t know which words would be appropriate. And he didn’t trust his voice to produce them. In the end, he chose to say nothing.

He turned his back to his mom and faced the window. With a short hop, he was able to reach the window ledge. From there, a simple pull-up brought his face to the opening, where the frigid air assaulted him.

Somewhere out there lay freedom or death. He didn’t see a way for it to end anywhere in between.

Ryan had no idea that his head was as big as it was. Once his forearms were lodged in the opening of the window, he ducked his chin to fit through, but his nose and the crown of his head formed a wedge that blocked him from moving even an inch.

By rolling his head to the right and pressing down hard with his left cheek against the ledge, he thought there was hope that he might be able to muscle his way through. He might have to leave his ears behind, but he could make it.