Jack Kilborn - Endurance

The scalp was more complicated, both hard to see and reach. Not worrying about the mess he was making of his hair, Felix alternated between a napkin compress and dabs of glue until the bleeding got under control.

Now what to do about John?

The Cozynook Motel was the best bet. Even though it was full occupancy, each of the rooms had a back patio, facing the woods. Felix could pull the truck around, load John into the room without anyone seeing.

And what about Cameron?

Felix buried the thought. Maria’s brother would either go along with this or he wouldn’t. But he wouldn’t tell anyone. Not after what Felix had done for him.

All that was left to do was figure out how to load John into Felix’s truck. He walked over and grabbed the man’s leg, attempting to drag him.

No good. John had to weigh three hundred pounds. Felix was strong, and he maintained his exercise regimen even during his obsession with finding Maria. But unless he had a ramp and a dolly, or a block and tackle, there was no way he could get John into the flatbed.

That left one alternative. John had to get in himself.

Felix knelt next to the big man’s head, a gun in one hand, a vial of ammonium carbonate from the first aid kit in the other. He held the smelling salts under John’s nostrils until the man’s eyes popped open and he twisted away from the fumes.

“Momma?” he moaned.

“I’m not your momma, asshole.”

John blinked, then sucked in his lower lip. The fear displayed on his round, hairless face made him look like an overgrown child.

“Am I bleedin’? Sweet Jezus, am I cut anywheres?”

Something caught Felix’s attention. Up on the crest of the hill, on the road leading up the mountain.

Headlights.

Someone was coming. Fast.

“Get up. You’re coming with me.”

“My head hurts. Is my head cut?”

Felix’s gaze flitted back to the approaching car. Thirty seconds until it arrived. Maybe less.

“You’re not bleeding.”

“You sure?”

Felix brought the gun up. “You have five seconds to get to your feet, or you will be bleeding. I’ll blow your fucking knee off.”

“Don’t! Aw gawd, please don’t...”

“Get up.”

John tried to get his legs under him, but he was too big and heavy.

The car zoomed within a few hundred yards of them.

Felix shoved the gun in his waistband and winced as he pulled on John’s armpit, helping the man get to his knees.

“Into the back of the truck. Move your ass.”

The car almost upon them now. In just a few seconds they would be in the driver’s headlights. Felix rushed back to his truck and killed his own headlights and the interior light, and then hurried back to John, who was standing in the middle of the road with his mouth open, looking terrified.

“In the fucking truck!” Felix jammed the gun into the hunter’s ribs, prodding him toward the back end. He pulled down the tailgate door, climbing onto the flatbed with John.

“Stay down! Don’t fucking move!”

Felix held his breath. John shook next to him.

The giant was sobbing.

The headlights approached. Felix could make out the shape of the car. A sedan. Square headlights. Something on the roof of it.

A hunting rack?

No. Sirens.

It’s a police car.

And it’s slowing down.

Felix tightened his grip on the Beretta, wondering what he would do if it stopped. He could tell the truth, say he was trying to dial 911 but couldn’t get a cell phone signal.

But then the cops would have John. What if they couldn’t make him talk? Where would that leave Maria?

Or worse, what if they knew John? What if all the townies were drinking buddies? Maybe Felix was the one who’d wind up in jail.

Felix listened to the car slow down and watched the cop’s headlights throw shadows over the flatbed. He placed his finger on the trigger of the Beretta.

They’re not going to take John.

The police car cruised by, then sped off down the highway, into the distance.

Felix breathed again. He climbed out of the bed, going around to the cab to get a bungee cord.

“What’re you gonna do to me?” John whimpered.

“Shut up.”

“You sure I ain’t bleedin’?”

“I said shut up!”

Felix whipped John in the head with the bungee. Then he wound it around John’s legs and threw a tarp over him.

Next Felix spent a few minutes cleaning himself off, stripping off his shirt and using the melted ice from the extra large cup of cola he’d bought hours ago to pour over his face and neck. The blood had begun to dry, and wasn’t coming off easily, but with a new shirt and a baseball cap he wouldn’t get a second look from any other drivers he passed.

“Where you takin’ me?” John said, his voice quavering.

“We’re going to have a nice, long talk about Maria.”

“You better let me go. Or you’re gonna get in big trouble.”

“You’re the one who’s in trouble, asshole.”

“If’n you hurt me, you’ll never get your girl back.”

Felix’s heart leapt up to his throat.

Is Maria really still alive? Or is this inbred son of a bitch just saying that to save his own neck?

I’ll find out the truth. So help me, I’ll find out everything this redneck has ever done going all the way back to his toddler years.

Felix cracked an ugly, hysterical smile, uttered a noise somewhere between a chortle and a sob, and then pulled onto the highway.

# # #

She doesn’t know what day it is. Or what month it is.

By how long her hair has grown, she knows she’s been here a long time. Ten months? A year?

Longer?

The depression is impossible to overcome. It’s even worse than the fear. Even worse than the abuse. Even worse than the—

She doesn’t want to think about that last thing. But it will happen again. Soon. Very soon. She’s due.

Escape is impossible. The door is solid iron, set in concrete. She isn’t allowed anything that can be used as a weapon. Not a pencil. Not even a spoon.

She once tried to hide a chicken bone in her cell. She was going to sharpen it, use it against them.

It was discovered. The consequences were horrible.

Resistance is met with punishment. Beatings. Food being withheld.

And worse. Much worse.

She used to have nightmares. Of them. A few in particular. The crueller ones. The sicker ones.

Now it’s all one big nightmare.

For a while she stopped eating. Wanted to die.

They tied her to a chair, stuck a tube down her throat, one end attached to a meat grinder, and force-fed her. Along with the grain and hamburger, they ground up a rat in there as well.

A live rat. Blood, fur, bones, squeals and all. From the grinder, straight to her belly.

She ate her meals after that.

Her cell has a dirt floor. A metal door. A mattress. A hand pump for water, though the water tastes strange. An aluminum chamber pot. And books. They let her have books. Some old paperbacks. And a lot of non-fiction. About Presidents. It’s tough to read, because the single overhead bulb is only 25 watts, but she makes due.

She exercises every day. It helps pass the time. Help keeps her sane.

But she isn’t sure how much longer she’ll be able to cling to sanity.

She’s lost weight, and isn’t quite sure how she’s still alive. How she’s been able to survive what they keep doing to her.

There are others down there with her. Other prisoners. She isn’t sure of the amount. At least three. Possibly more. Talking is met with swift punishment. Whenever she’s taken from the cell, it’s with a hood over her head so she can’t see.