Jason Frost - Badlands

Tim picked up a few small branches.

"And once we get back, I'll take care of you, just like I am now."

Fallows let Tim think it over as they continued to stroll along the road, adding wood to their armloads. He knew the anguish going on in Tim's mind now, but he also knew how it would all be resolved. The walk in the woods away from the woman's tortured whimpering, the compassionate tone so like Eric's, and most important, the hope of freedom. There was only one way Tim could go.

It was all working out so perfectly. If his men found Eric, they'd bring him back broken and humiliated. Or dead. Either way, Fallows won. If they didn't find him, Fallows would kill the men he had left and use the tapes to bargain his passage back to the States.

The woman's arrival had only delayed him a few hours. But it was worth it if he could find Eric. Maybe he wouldn't kill Eric, just mutilate him somehow, cut off his hands or feet, or maybe one of each. Then leave him here to contemplate the life his son would be having with Fallows as his parent. That thought made the small gnawing inside him go away. Yes, death was too sudden, too final.

Fortunately the woman had been able to confirm his own conclusions about the tapes. He'd played them for her while he'd tortured her, the staccato notes echoing around the garage while she screamed. Yes, it had been a stroke of luck finding her wandering nearby. He stopped in the middle of the road. Maybe too lucky. Eric must have known they'd capture her. Yet he let her go.

"Damn," he cried, throwing the wood down.

"What?" Tim asked.

"That son of a bitch!" Fallows pulled his Walther from his holster and began running back to the service station.

Tim followed, fumbling in his pocket for the single 9mm bullet.

Eric ran as fast as he could, straight for the ravine. As his right foot slapped the ground only six inches from the edge, he pushed off, his feet bicycling through the air over the endless drop below him. The weight of the crossbow on his back made him a little nervous, but once he was airborne, he forgot about it. He forgot about everything except how good the ground would feel beneath his feet. He pictured himself missing, tottering on the far edge, slipping backwards, bouncing down against the dirt and rock walls…

His feet bumped dirt and he pitched himself forward like a runner diving for home plate. He was safe. About a hundred yards away he could see the outline of the garage backlit by the campfire. He had waited until he'd seen where Fallows dispatched the guards. That Fallows had then led Tim away had been a bonus.

Eric found the first guard north of the Union 76 station, crouching behind some burned bushes that had obviously been caught in a brush fire. The guard was maybe thirty-five with a red checkered bandanna tied over his head. A gold cross dangled from one ear.

Eric sneaked up behind him as the guard's head swung back and forth, scanning the dark woods. Eric threw his arm around the guard's head, pressing his forearm into the man's mouth to prevent him from crying out. With his right hand, he tried to dig his knife into the man's throat. But the guard used his powerful neck muscles to force his chin down, making it hard for Eric to find his target. Instead he plunged the blade into the man's heart. The cries of anguish were muffled against Eric's forearm as the guard sagged to the ground. Eric picked up the dead man's carbine and trekked quietly toward the garage.

The dead guard was the closest one to the garage, and with him out of the way, Eric figured he had a chance. Free Paige, get her across the ravine to safety, then eliminate the other guards one by one while the rest of the troops were out looking for him. And finally, Fallows.

He crawled along the wall of the garage, looked around, then ducked inside. The fire from the other side of the wall cast a flickering light through the dirty window. A large sign against the back wall said: OUR INSURANCE FORBIDS CUSTOMERS INSIDE GARAGE. Next to that was another sign: PLEASE DON'T ASK TO USE OUR TOOLS.

Eric stooped between the yellow Rabbit and the wall and crab-walked to the front of the car. Paige was still stretched out on the hood. One eye was swollen shut, but she saw him with the other.

"What… kept you?" she said slowly, her lip split in front.

Eric tried not to look at her as he untied her wrists. He'd already seen enough. The dozens of little cuts across her body, the long S that started between her breasts and curved down to her pubic hair. There was blood dripping down her hips.

When he'd finished untying her he helped her dress. "No time," he said, throwing away her bra and panties. "Just the basics." Finally, with painful, halting movements, she was dressed. He handed her the carbine. "Let's get you out of here."

"Aren't you going to say something?"

"What?"

She looked at him with her good eye. A sliver of white shone under the swollen eye. "Say it, damn it!"

"All right. I told you so. Better?"

"Damn right, that's better," she slurred. "You warned me not to go out on my own. I didn't listen. Now you're saving my life for the second time. You at least owe me an I-told-you-so."

"Not yet, lady. Not until you see what's next." He steadied her with his arm around her waist, half-carrying her toward the door.

"The tapes!" she said. "Over there!"

Eric leaned her against the Rabbit's hatchback and ran back to the workbench. The cassette player was there. He popped the cassette out and grabbed the one lying next to it, stuck them both in his shirt pocket. When he returned to help Paige, she waved him away. "I'm OK." She shuffled forward a few steps to demonstrate. "See?"

Eric lead her outside. "Listen, Paige, there's only time to do this once. I'm going to jump across that ravine. Then you're going to jump."

She laughed hoarsely. "There's got to be an easier way to kill me, Eric."

"I'm serious."

She shook her head. "I'll never make it. Maybe if I had a couple days' sleep and a few hours' practice. But not now, not this way."

"No choice, Paige. It's the only way you'll be safe if I don't make it back. Then at least you have a chance of getting back to the shuttle in time."

"The ravine's not the problem. I can probably jump that. But that damn cliff. It's too high, Eric. And too dark."

"Don't worry." He smiled. "I'll catch you."

She gave him a long, steady look. Finally she shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Eric paced out the distance first, then ran it, pushing off the edge, reaching both arms straight up to grab hold of anything. Just like all those times he'd tried to make a slam dunk back when he played varsity basketball. Only he'd never quite been able to do it. He'd bounced a few off the rim, though. Close. Only this time, close wasn't going to be good enough. His leap was better than he'd anticipated. Both arms and shoulders were above the edge of the cliff and he managed to wrap his fists around the thick bush he'd been aiming for. Quickly he pulled himself up.

He waved at Paige. She walked up to the edge of the ravine and looked down. "I'm glad my other eye can't see," she said, "otherwise I'd be scared."

"Throw the gun first."

She swung the rifle back with both hands like someone giving the heave-ho, and flung it up into the air. But not high enough. Eric grabbed for it, but the gun was a foot too low. It struck the side of the cliff and dropped into the ravine, clattering noisily as it fell.

"Hurry," Eric urged.

"I hope you can catch better than that this time," she said as she backed up. She took a deep breath, tried to block out the pains that crisscrossed her body, and leaned over in the runner's start she'd learned in college. She leaned on her fingers, her butt high in the air, but she couldn't move.