Jeff Strand - Casket For Sale

"You've got it. Witch out." She clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt and turned to Troll. "I'll keep you covered. Get him down."

"Don't worry," Troll told me. "Pretty soon your body will be hurting a hell of a lot worse than your pride. Which is saying a lot."

He walked around the tree and out of sight. A moment later, I let out an embarrassing yelp and dropped to the ground, just barely managing to cushion my fall with my hands.

It was a close race, but yes, my body was indeed hurting worse than my pride. Of course, he probably wasn't referring to the fall, but rather fun stuff to come after the fall.

I pushed myself up. Maybe I could try the old throw-a-handful-of-dirt-into-the-bad-guy's-eyes-and-kick-them-in-the-stomach-while-they-are-blinded trick.

Or maybe I could admit defeat.

"Look at me," said Witch.

I did.

"See this gun? We were told to take you back alive, but neither of us will be written up if that fails to happen. So if you try another stunt like you did back at the camper, or anything else, anything , I'll shoot you in the leg. If you try again, I'll empty the rest of this gun into your head. Do you understand me?"

I nodded.

"Say it."

"I understand."

"Good."

"Hey, looky here!" said Troll, wandering over and picking up his knife. "I've really missed this." He fondled it, flicked the tip against his leg, and walked toward me. "Maybe I'll slice him up before we take him back. Just a little."

"Fine with me, if you do it quick," said Witch, keeping the gun pointed at my head.

I didn't try to gather a handful of dirt. That would simply get me shot. As much as I hated to admit it, the only way I'd stay alive and possibly see my family again was to concede defeat.

For now.

Helen's Side

IT'S FINALLY MY turn.

My name is Helen Mayhem. I've been marrie d to Andrew for a decade now, and I've had to put up with a lot. But you already knew that.

While I don't feel I've necessarily been misrepresented on these pages, give or take a few misquotes, I do think having only one point of view makes me appear less sympathetic than I actually am. I'm not going to dwell on this, because I'm primarily referring to my husband's first two books and not this one, but I did want to suggest that if you've ever found me to be overly grouchy, demanding, and/or overbearing, that you stop to consider whether that attitude may have been justified.

The fact is, if you were married to Andrew, you'd think such an attitude was essential to your very survival.

I could probably go on for a couple of books of my own presenting my side of these adventures, but I don't want to interrupt the forward momentum any more than absolutely necessary. So I'll pick up where we left off, with me kicking Ogre in the testicles and fleeing into the woods.

I knew right away that simply running for our lives wasn't going to work, not with a seven- and a nine-year-old in tow. We had to find a place to hide as quickly as possible. As we ran I looked for large overturned tree trunks, piles of branches, anyplace I could conceal my children.

A shotgun fired. I'm not sure what it hit, but it wasn't me or my kids.

I grabbed Theresa and Kyle's hands and screamed for them to run faster. I heard somebody following only steps behind us, so we ran with every ounce of energy we could muster.

He had to have a gun. All of them did, didn't they?

As far as I knew, we were only still alive at this moment because our pursuer had an aversion to shooting a woman and her children in the back.

The man behind us was gaining, and as close as he was he didn't have much more to gain. So I let go of my children's hands and came to a sudden stop, almost in the style of a Warner Brothers cartoon character.

I spun around and swung my fist. I didn't punch him so much as he ran into my fist with his jaw.

You know, it doesn't look that way on television, but it hurts to slam your fist into somebody's face. It hurts like you wouldn't believe. There's not a whole lot of cushioning in the jaw area, and I've got tiny little hands. For a second I almost thought my hand had popped off from the impact.

The man (not much more than a kid, actually) was knocked off his feet and his gun flew into the air.

I'd like to say I caught it in the dramatic fashion of an action movie star, but I didn't. It hit the ground next to him. I scooped it up.

The kid grabbed my arm.

I shot him in the chest.

I'd never killed anybody before. Never even injured anybody. Thus far in my life, I'd never delivered physical trauma more severe than a spanking, and I felt guilty for weeks over the spanking, even though Andrew deserved it.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't make a joke in the middle of this. I'm not as good at being witty as my husband, so I'm going to stick to a more or less straightforward telling of this narrative as much as possible. It's just that I feel somewhat compelled to use a lighthearted tone to help get me through this.

Because this time… well, things got really bad.

Blood splattered against my face.

I knew I'd have some hard times dealing with this later, but for now I was a pregnant woman defending her children and I was glad to shoot the son of a bitch.

His fingers tightened around my arm. I yanked away. His arm flopped to the ground.

Ogre, whose five hundred or so pounds had apparently recovered from the groin kick, came into view. He looked absolutely horrified.

I took a shot at him and missed.

I turned around. Kyle and Theresa were standing there, silent, almost in shock.

"Run!" I screamed at them, and then I followed.

We raced through the woods. I prayed to God that Andrew was still alive, but I had to protect my children first.

Behind us, Ogre howled in grief.

We'd only been running for a couple of minutes before Kyle fell. I pulled him to his feet and tried to get him moving, but he fell again.

"Sweetheart, you have to get up," I insisted. "Do it for Mommy!"

Theresa looked over her shoulder. "I hear Joe!"

I listened. I heard the dog barking, too. "Joe's going to be fine," I said. "We have to keep running. Theresa, keep going!"

Theresa ran. I suddenly caught a reflection of light. My stomach gave a lurch, and I screamed: " Theresa, stop !"

She stopped.

I hurried to her. A fishing line ran between two trees, about six inches above the ground. I looked up in the tree and saw something metallic that was mostly hidden by the branches. I couldn't be sure what it was, but this whole thing definitely had the appearance of a booby trap.

I held out my hand and called Theresa back. "I'm going to hide you two, okay? I'm going to put you up in a tree where it's safe, and I'll be right here if anything happens, but I need you to be completely quiet, no matter what. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Mommy," said Theresa. Kyle nodded.

I watched the ground, now paranoid there might be traps lurking everywhere, and hurried to a nice-sized tree with a low first branch. I hoisted Kyle up.

"Climb up a couple of branches and hide. I'll let you know if I can see you or not."

As Kyle climbed, I took Theresa to another tree about ten feet away and instructed her to do the same.

I walked to Kyle's tree and looked up. He was slightly visible, but only if you knew where to look. Once Theresa was equally well-hidden, I climbed a tree in the middle of the two and hid myself.

I didn't feel safe having myself and my kids trapped like this, with no way to escape, but I felt even less safe about running through booby-trapped wilderness.

Please let Andrew be okay.

And Roger.

And Samantha.

At least I knew Joe was doing okay. I heard the dog barking as it ran toward our location.