John Gilstrap - Threat warning

Now that he’d finally gotten so close, he realized how flimsy his plan was-or, more accurately, that he didn’t have a plan. Somehow, he was going to get over the fence unseen, and then somehow, he was going to find a place where he could make a phone call. That was a lot of somehow.

And all of it depended on these guys moving on. Or falling asleep. Or getting struck by lightning. For the time being, Ryan settled on becoming invisible and allowing his breathing to slow down. As the sound of blood thrumming through his ears died away, he could actually hear the words they were saying.

“… starting a war. Like any war, people are going to be killed.”

“But kids. I just don’t see how that is anything but wrong.”

“It’s about the anger. It’s about focusing it on all those godless rag heads, and so far, Brother Michael says it’s going great.”

A long pause followed-long enough for Ryan to wonder if maybe they’d moved along.

Then, “Are you willing to go that far?”

“I’m a soldier. If I have to kill, I’ll kill. If I have to die, I’ll die.”

“I don’t mean that. That’s all of us. I mean kids. You’re willing to kill kids?”

A derisive laugh. “Name me one war in the history of wars where kids didn’t get killed.”

“That’s different. It’s one thing when a bomb falls in the wrong place, or a stray bullet goes through the wrong wall. I mean, are you willing to target kids?”

“I will follow the orders that are given to me.” Another pause-a shorter one this time. “Are you saying that you wouldn’t?”

Ryan heard a distinct change in tone. “N-no, of course not. I’m just saying I’d try to find a different assignment.”

“But if you were given an order-”

“I’d do my duty.” Another long pause. In Ryan’s mind, the guy was getting defensive. “Seriously. I’m just talking here. Don’t look at me like I’m a traitor. I’m a loyal servant to the cause, just like you are.”

“You make me wonder sometimes, Brother Samuel.” The other one said this in a tone that dripped with disapproval. “Questioning leads all too easily to disloyalty. You know this.”

“Of course I know it. And Brother James, I’m sorry that I said anything. I think sometimes that I am not as strong as the others. I worry that when the time comes, I might freeze. I don’t want to be one who fails.”

Who the hell are these freaks? Ryan wondered. Brother this and Sister that. Killing children? Holy shit.

“We all have doubts,” Brother James said. “But I believe that when the time comes, our training will take over and we will do everything that is expected of us. We need to stay focused on the honor, and if we do that, the rest won’t matter.”

“Do you have your mission yet?” Brother Samuel asked.

Still another pause. “We’ve been here too long,” Brother James said. “You need to walk your route. So do I. Stay warm.”

With that, the night grew silent again.

But what did the silence mean? Ryan hoped it meant that they had wandered off, a conclusion rendered more likely by their need to “walk their routes.” He thought again of the guards he saw at the gate when they first arrived. First there were just a couple, and then more arrived. It made sense, didn’t it, that they would walk the fence line, like sentries in the POW movies?

Only one way to find out.

Ryan rose again to his hands and knees slowly and quietly, and dared to peer into the night. The spot where the guards had been standing was now empty, their cube of space now occupied by the outline of the chain-link fence against the night. The fence was the goal. The first goal, anyway. If he could make it over that, then other options existed for him. If he couldn’t, well, only one option remained, he supposed, and that one sucked.

If he tried the fence, he might get out. If he got caught trying, they’d probably kill him outright. That’s what the guns were for, right? But if he stayed, they were going to kill him anyway. The fence was the only option.

Even as he inventoried his options, he continued his slow, steady crawl toward the fence. Toward freedom. As he closed to within fifteen yards, and then ten, he fought the urge to hurry. At the ten-yard mark, he realized that the trees were all gone. An unpaved roadway of sorts had been denuded of trees on either side of the fence, presumably to allow the guards to walk their routes, just like Brother What’s-his-face had said. He remembered with a shudder how easily he’d been able to make out the details of those guards in the starlight, and now realized that the clarity came from the lack of tree cover. The lack of any cover at all.

Shit. I have to climb the fence in the open.

At the very edge of the tree line, which at this point was more scrub growth than real trees, Ryan leaned out into the cleared space. He pivoted his head first to the left, and then to the right, and there they both were, each about thirty yards away from him, but on opposite sides. They appeared to be moving away, but how could he know without being able to see faces for a reference point?

Time to find out.

Pressing himself flat against the ground, he lizard-crawled across the open space to the base of the fence. He thought to look both ways again, just to be sure, then talked himself out of it. What was it that Dad always said? In for a penny, in for a pound.

It wasn’t till he actually rose to his knees and touched the fence that he thought about the possibility that it might be electrified. It wasn’t.

Ryan slipped his fingers through the chain links and started to climb, telling himself that this was no different than climbing the fence to the athletic field on the days when he beat Coach Jackson to practice. He’d done that half a dozen times, and each time, he’d earned one of those scoldings that was really an expression of veiled admiration.

He didn’t expect one of those this time.

The hardest part was to not make any noise. Chain-link fences make a unique tinkling, clattering sound when you climb them. If the guards heard that, it would be over. Good God, there were so many ways for this to be over, and none of them were good.

He refused to look at the guards, fearing that the energy of his glance might somehow make them turn, the way that your eyes are drawn to the girl across the classroom who happens to be staring at you, or the way the teacher knows to call on you the one day out of thirty when you don’t have your homework done. Maybe if he didn’t summon their glances, things would continue to break his way.

The frigid air registered almost as hot against the exposed skin of his hands and face, and as he scaled higher, the metal chain links felt like they were somehow turning his finger bones brittle.

It took less time than he thought it would to reach the top of the fence, where a Y-shaped frame of barbed wire awaited him, daring to thwart his escape.

Not a chance. He’d already been beaten, and people were already planning his execution. Spiky wire was nothing.

At the top now, he reached up and behind with his right hand to wrap his fist around the wire, taking care to place his palm in a spot between the spikes. That done, he let go of the fence with his other hand and allowed his feet to dangle as he hand-walked upwards and backwards, hand-over-hand until he’d reached the fourth level of wire, which left him dangling free over the cleared aisleway.

A pull-up brought him chin-high to the wire, and then he faced the hard part. Squinting against what he knew was coming, he raised his left leg and hooked the wire with his ankle, where one of the spikes bit deeply into the soft meat in front of his Achilles tendon. Ignoring the pain, he gritted his teeth and hoisted his left leg parallel to the wire. Spikes found his calf and knee and thighs, and he prayed to all things holy that his junk would be spared as he heaved himself with agonizing slowness into the trough formed by the torturous Y. While his scrotum got poked, the point missed the boys, so he called that a victory.