Ryan Westfield - Fighting Rough

If he could have only done something. If he could have only gone down fighting. That would have been better. Far better.

“Let’s start with the fingernails, shall we?” said the stranger, leaning down over John. He laughed. “No, we’ll move onto that. First thing’s first, let’s see some blood. Just a little. Don’t worry, I’m not going to let you bleed out. The end will be much more painful than that.”

The man moved out of view. John felt him tugging on his pant leg, doing something with it. He heard the sounds of fabric tearing. John felt the cold of the snow and the air against his now-bare leg. The man had cut away part of his pants, from the knee downward.

John felt the knife running delicately across his skin. The steel was cold, but it didn’t yet cut him or pierce him.

A second later, that changed.

John barely felt it, but he knew the knife had cut him.

“Like I said,” said the stranger. “I like to start off slow. This is the lowest amount of pain you’ll feel for the rest of the day. Soon enough I’ll break out the pliers. I always have them with me. You know, so I can remove your nails.”

Max and Mandy had followed the footprints in the snow for a long time.

“It looks like he’s walking fast. Very fast,” said Max.

“How can you tell?”

“It’s just a guess based on how far apart the prints are. And think about how warm the body was. We’re moving at a good pace, but he’s still ahead of us. By a lot.”

“Take a look at that.”

Up ahead, the snow had been greatly disturbed. There were clusters of footprints in one area as well as a place, about the size of a body, where the snow had been pushed aside.

“What the hell happened here?” said Mandy, when they got to the area. She bent down, trying to get a closer look at the prints and strange marks.

Max said nothing for a moment. His gaze was off in the distance, trying to make sense of the various paths.

“There’s blood,” said Mandy.

“Something happened here,” said Max.

“What, though?”

“Don’t know. But someone’s in trouble.”

“Don’t you think they’re already dead?”

“There’s no body. And look at those tracks. Looks like someone dragged a body through the snow.”

“Maybe they were just trying to hide it?”

“Maybe.”

“It could be anyone,” said Mandy. “It could have been Georgia, John…”

“No point in worry about it,” said Max, cutting her off. “There’s no way to contact them to see what happened. The only thing to do is follow the tracks, and deal with the situation once we get there.”

“What if we can’t?”

“Can’t?”

“I mean what if we can’t deal with it. Whoever this is has already killed once. Probably twice.”

“We have to try,” said Max.

He was already leading the way, walking through the snow. A gust of wind blew in, chilling his face. The wind cut through his pants. The cold seemed to make his leg hurt more.

They walked quickly, side by side when they could, following the path. It was clear and easy to follow.

“It looks like they were dragging something else,” said Mandy.

Max nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“You think it’s John and Cynthia? They were supposed to be over in that area.”

“Could be,” said Max.

They were already going as fast as they could. There wasn’t any point in running. It would just tire them out more.

Mandy kept glancing at Max as they walked, apparently trying to read something from his expression. But Max’s face remained impassive.

They had walked for another half an hour when Mandy’s boot caught against something in the snow. She tripped, falling forward, before Max could catch her.

“You all right?” he said, bending down to help her.

“Yeah,” she said, wincing in pain. “I’m fine.”

“What hurts?”

“My ankle.”

“Let’s see if you can put weight on it.”

Max helped her to her feet, but when she tried to support her own weight, she simply couldn’t. She grunted in pain, trying not to let out her scream.

“It’s bad,” said Max.

“No shit,” said Mandy, gritting her teeth.

“You’re not going to be able to walk on that.”

“You go on ahead,” said Mandy, looking him dead in the eyes. “They might be alive. They need you.”

Max gave her a stiff nod. “I’ll get you propped up against this tree here. Keep your gun ready. Keep your eyes open, and stay alert, no matter how bad the pain is.”

“It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.”

But Max had to basically carry her to the tree.

“If I don’t make it back,” said Max. “Make a set of crutches and get back to camp.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to make it back.”

“Stay alert,” said Max.

Then he was off, walking as fast as he could through the snow, following the tracks.

In another fifteen minutes, he was there. He saw no one. Not yet. But he heard a voice, loud. It sounded like someone was ranting. A man’s voice.

Max decided to cut around the side, circling the area, so that he wouldn’t arrive from the same direction that the man had. That way he could hope to have the element of surprise more on his side.

Max made his way through the snow and the trees, trying to keep behind the trees as much as possible.

The voice continued. Max could hear it more clearly now. He was closer. He didn’t stop to look through his scope. He wanted to act as quickly as possible.

Max flattened himself behind a tree, finger on the trigger. He was ready. He was breathing heavily. His leg throbbed.

“I’m giving you a break. Now that the both of you are awake, it’s going to be a lot more interesting. I don’t want to overwhelm you. At least not yet. There’s plenty of time for that. No one’s going to find us here.” It was definitely a man’s voice, loud and powerful.

“Why don’t you just let her go? You can do what you want with me.” It was Max’s brother’s voice.

“No! John!” It was Cynthia’s voice.

“Don’t worry, lady. I’d never pass up the opportunity to torture both of you to death. I’m not letting your boyfriend go.”

There was silence for a long moment. Then a scream. Cynthia’s. Loud, filled with pain. It pierced the silence of the woods, reverberating in Max’s brain. He had to act. Fast. Who knew how long John and Cynthia had.

Max moved out from behind the tree. His rifle was ready. The area was in his scope.

A man was standing over two bodies on the ground.

Max pulled the trigger.

The rifle kicked back.

The man moved. Going for a gun. Fast.

Max had missed.

Max threw himself back behind the tree just in time. Bullets slammed into the trunk. It was last night all over again.

“Who’s out there? Who’s come to play?”

Max thought for a moment. Should he answer?

Max didn’t know who he was dealing with. Except that they were dangerous. And an indiscriminate killer.

Max moved again, out from behind the tree. He was ready, his eye to the scope. But the stranger wasn’t there.

On instinct, Max got behind the tree again, rather than looking for the stranger.

Another blast of gunfire. Bullets thudded into the tree.

Max was breathing heavily. Sweat dripped down his brow despite the temperature. One of his boots had dug into the dirt underneath the snow.

“You can’t beat me!” shouted the stranger. There was a strange quality to his voice. Taunting, but cold and emotionless. Yet excited at the same time.

“What are you doing here?” shouted Max. “What do you want with the man and the woman?”