Jack Kilborn - Endurance

The matter-of-fact way Cam said it was chilling.

“He’s a police officer. He won’t do that.”

“He didn’t call it in,” Cam said. “Didn’t report back.”

“It’s a small town. There’s no one to report to.”

Cam shook his head. “He’s not the only cop in the county. There are others. Murder is still a big deal. But he didn’t call anyone. Base. The coroner. Paramedics. That means he’s going to get rid of us.”

Felix felt himself get very cold. He was mentally and physically a wreck, hurting in a dozen places, his mind alternately torturing and tantalizing him with thoughts of Maria. To think that he was going to die soon was almost too much to handle.

“Don’t worry,” Cam said. “It’s not so bad.”

Felix let out a half-insane chuckle. “What’s not so bad?”

“Dying,” Cam said.

Cam would know.

The police cruiser began to slow down. Felix looked around. Nothing but woods and darkness. A lump formed in his throat.

The lump got even bigger when the cruiser pulled onto the shoulder, into a copse of trees.

“Sheriff,” Felix said. “Please. Don’t do this.”

“Son, I can’t begin to describe what a pain in the rear you’ve been these last few months. Botherin’ the locals. Stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong. All for one little woman.” The Sheriff stared in the rear view mirror, looking at Felix. “There are other fish in the sea, boy. Didn’t your mama ever tell you that?”

“She’s alive?”

“Hell, ‘course she’s alive. I saw ‘er just a few weeks ago. Got my transfusion, and dipped my wick in ‘er honey pot. I tell you, she’s one sorry piece of tail. Does nothing but lay there and cry. I don’t see why you’re so damn anxious to get ‘er back.”

Rage replaced fear. Felix tried to get at the Sheriff by ramming his head through the Plexiglas partition between the front and back seats. The only damage he caused was to himself, opening up the cut on his head.

“Careful there, son. Y’all oughta save your strength. Fine looking young buck like yourself. I don’t personally care for none of that sodomite behavior, but to some of my brothers a hole is a hole is a hole. You keep acting so impetuous, you won’t last a week with my kin.”

Felix sank back in his seat. Of the countless nightmare scenarios he’d dreamed up to explain Maria’s disappearance, none were this bad.

The car hit a hump, bouncing Felix and Cam. If only Cam had been on his right side, maybe he could have reached Felix’s handcuff keys in his jeans pocket. But Cam was on the left—the wrong side—and he wouldn’t be able to dig them out, not with the Sheriff eyeballing them every few seconds. And Felix had been stretching since the moment he got into the car, and his hands hadn’t even come close.

Not that it mattered. Even if the cuffs were off, the Sheriff was still armed. Assuming he and Cam could somehow get out of the cruiser, they wouldn’t get far.

The police car stopped. Felix’s brain popped and sizzled, trying to figure some way out of this mess. He glanced at Cam. Incredibly, the kid appeared peaceful, like he was going for a ride in the country.

What the hell is wrong with him?

“We’re here, fellas. Don’t give me no trouble. I get angry, I start breakin’ things on y’all. You hear?”

The Sheriff got out of the car, gun in hand, and opened the door. Felix got out first, staring into woods so dark he felt like her was being swallowed. There was nothing around, far as he could see. When Cam exited the vehicle, the Sheriff took out a flashlight and marched them forward.

Out of nowhere, a gigantic house appeared. Made of logs, surround by tall trees on all sides. Not a single light was on.

Is this the Rushmore Inn?

“The forest rangers don’t even know this place exits,” the Sheriff said. “Got some trees on the roof, so it can’t be seen flyin’ overhead. Every so often, hunter’ll stumble on it. We take care of ‘em.”

He marched them inside the heavy front door, closed it behind him, and yelled, “Ma! I’m home!”

Felix looked around the room, awed by the decor. U.S. Presidents were everywhere. He was so floored by how odd it was that he almost failed to notice the large old woman lumbering toward them.

“Good evening. I’m Eleanor Roosevelt. Welcome, gentlemen, to the Rushmore Inn.” She fussed with her hair, held in place by a white hairnet, then turned to the Sheriff. “Dwight? Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing guests?”

“Sorry, Ma. This was last minute.” Dwight took off his cowboy hat and held it by the brim, looking solemn. “I’m afraid I got some bad news. These fellas here killed John.”

Eleanor blinked her bulbous eyes. “John? My John?”

“’Fraid so. These are the ones I told you about a while ago. The ones looking for the girl. They shot John in the head. Like a dog, Ma. Nuthin’ I could do.”

“Better than he deserved,” Cam said. “You people are scum.”

Sheriff Dwight hit Cam in the stomach, dropping him to his knees.

“Mind my momma, boy.”

Eleanor placed a hand on her chest. She moaned, a low, keening sound that grew higher and higher in pitch, like a fog horn.

“There there, Ma.” The Sheriff patted her shoulder.

Eleanor stopped howling long enough to pull a handkerchief out of her robe pocket. She dabbed her eyes, but as far as Felix could tell they were already dry.

“Get me some water to calm my nerves, Dwight. There’s a pitcher on the table.”

Dwight nodded, heading for the pitcher. Felix flexed his legs.

If he turns his back on me, I’ll run at the old woman and...

The next thing he knew, Felix was on his knees, teeth clenched in agony. It felt like a pick axe hit him in the stomach. He stared up at Eleanor, who was now holding a stick she must have had hidden in her robe.

She touched the stick to Felix’s arm, and it hurt worse than if she’d branded it with a hot iron.

It’s a cattle prod. But Felix was much more interested in the hand that held it. On Eleanor’s pinky.

A yellow diamond ring. Pear shaped.

Maria’s engagement ring.

She’s here! Maria is here!

“Shame on you,” Eleanor said. “Shame on both of you. John was a good boy. A special boy. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he loved his momma, and I had big plans for him.”

“He was a rapist and a murderer,” Cam said.

Eleanor juiced him with the prod, and Cam cried out.

“Not another word out of you, boy. Dwight! Where’s my water?”

“Here it is, Ma.”

The Sheriff handed her a glass of rust-colored liquid, and she drank the whole thing, smacking her lips at the end.

“Not much in the taste department, but wonderful for the nerves. Get my blood kit, Dwight.”

“Got it already, Ma.”

“Test ‘em.”

The Sheriff knelt down, poking Felix in the hip with something that stung. He did the same thing to Cam. Then he opened up a leather satchel and pulled out some vials of fluid.

He just took our blood samples. He’s going to test if we...

Jesus, who’s that?

A giant had come down the stairs. A giant with a gaping split in his face. He walked up to them and stared at Felix, flicking his tongue out through the hole in his nasal cavity.

“Did you take care of the reporter, Harry?” Eleanor asked.

The giant nodded.

“Where is he?”

“Immmby av imm.”

“Jimmy has him?”

He nodded again.

“Good boy. You done your momma proud. Have you heard from Teddy yet?”

Harry shook his head. Eleanor sighed. “He’s probably fooling around again. Teddy is a lot like your father. That man was a rascal, never satisfied. Sometimes, your father would mount me four, five times a day.” Eleanor fanned her face with her palm.