Aric Davis - The Fort

As he drove down suburban streets, he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. How many of the men who occupied these homes could say that they had accomplished what he had in life? He was a man’s man, a veteran injured in war, a man who took what he wanted, the rules of society be damned. Sure, he didn’t have much money, or a job, but he had what few else did: a real sense of freedom, freedom he had earned in a trial by fire. The world might not have planned much for Matt Hooper, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tear off a big old hunk of living when God wasn’t looking.

He parked in the driveway, beaming, the plain brown paper bag from the fuck store in one hand, a bag of food from Meijer in the other. He opened the door awkwardly and slipped through it, looking to his left for Amy. She was gone.

Hooper dropped the bag and slammed the door behind him. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck , the thoughts a cadence, his headache immediate.

He ran to the kitchen and found her struggling with the sliding door, dressed in a pair of his shorts and a T-shirt. He crossed the house to her, moving fast as hell, but she slipped through the slider, already starting to scream. He grabbed a black and very loaded Colt 1911 from the drawer by the door, thanked God silently that she hadn’t looked there, and then was out the door after her. She was working open the gate in his wood fence, and then was through it and into the woods. If she had looked or run right or left, he would have been fucked, but she didn’t, she went straight into the trees, and he ran after her.

16

Tim woke a few hours after the sun came up that morning and, after brushing his teeth, taking a quick shower, and dressing, headed to the kitchen. He could see his dad out back working, but also saw storm clouds overhead. Dad will be so happy if it rains for a little while , Tim thought, a grin passing over his face. He dropped two pieces of white bread into the toaster, then grabbed a butter knife and a plate. He could hear his mom and Becca talking down the hallway, but couldn’t hear and didn’t care what they were saying. His toast popped, he buttered it, and he sat down at the table.

The Grand Rapids Press from the day before lay open on the table. As he flipped past the first few sections to find the sports and comics, a picture of Molly stopped Tim cold. She’s still missing. Seeing her there in print made it real somehow. She was missing, and maybe she really wasn’t coming back.

The picture also gave Tim pause. If no one was searching the woods yet, maybe that task did fall to him and his friends. After all, they knew the area better than anyone. Adults rarely went back there, and most teenagers preferred to party in Provin Trails, or at the drive-in. Tim finished his toast, forgetting all about the funnies, the sports section, and finding the fifth dungeon in Zelda. He wanted to go to the fort.

After dropping his plate in the sink, Tim walked outside. His dad was transferring rocks from the wheelbarrow. “You see that, buddy?” Stan asked. “Those look like storm clouds. Can you say ‘day off’?”

Tim shielded his eyes with his right hand. “I don’t know, Dad. Those just look like regular clouds.”

Stan sighed and threw another shovel full of pea gravel into the hole. “You could throw a guy a bone once in a while.”

“You know, Dad,” said Tim, “now that you mention it, maybe those are storm clouds. I’m going to the woods. Do you think I should bring an umbrella?”

Stan grinned back at him as he worked the shovel. “That’s more like it. Are you going to be back for lunch?”

“I think so,” said Tim. “If I go to Scott’s, I’ll call.”

“Sounds good,” said Stan. “How are those guys doing? I haven’t seen Scott or Luke since the deck teardown.”

“They’re good,” said Tim, wondering whether or not he should tell his dad about Luke. It wouldn’t be like telling his mom. If he told his dad, it probably would stay between them, unless things were worse with Luke than he thought. That was the problem, though. Luke had a flair for drama, he always had, and maybe this was just more of that. Or, worse, maybe he was sugarcoating an even worse situation so that he could still vent about it a little without having one of them get help. There wasn’t any right thing for Tim to do, that he could see.

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“You looked like you kind of shut down for a second there. I know it’s been a little crazy around here lately. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“No,” said Tim, really wondering if he was making the right choice now. “Everything is fine.”

He was wrong.

When Tim got to the fort there were two bottle caps lying at the base of the ladder, Sprite and Coke. He threw down his own Budweiser cap, then began to climb up. When he got to the top, he saw Scott and Luke sitting together and staring at something Scott was holding. “Took you long enough,” said Scott. “We’ve been waiting for what felt like forever.”

Closer to them now, Tim could see what Scott was holding: a new air rifle, or was it—

“It’s the real thing, Tim,” said Luke. “A real rifle.” He held up a cartridge. It had a small copper bullet, along with a smooth brass casing. “Here’s yours,” Luke continued, before handing Tim the bullet. “We all get to shoot it once, and we’re going to have a rock-paper-scissors tournament to see who shoots first.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tim asked. “If we get caught shooting back here, that’s going to be the end of summer.”

“You’re telling me,” said Scott. “That’s Carl’s gun. If he knew I took it, much less fired it, I think he might just decide it would be easier to kill me than to come up with a big enough punishment.”

“So why did you take it?”

“Because we all want to shoot at that target. And besides, we’re not going to be hurting anybody. We’re going to shoot the gun three times, break it back down, and then walk to my house to put it away. We don’t even have to clean it, because it’s still dirty from when Carl sighted it in.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“We’re going to shoot it either way,” said Luke, who from the sound of his voice had forgotten the problems of the day prior. “Whether you want to or not. We’re not going to get caught, either. Almost all of the noise will be absorbed by the fort, and that thing’s not going to be much louder than our air rifles. I already beat Scott at rock-paper-scissors, so you have to go against me to see who gets the first shot, and then the loser will go against Scott to see who shoots second. Are you in, or are you out?”

“In,” said Tim with a grin, and Luke and Tim squared off in the center of the fort, while Scott, cradling the rifle, said, “Best two out of three.” Luke had his right fist set down on his upturned palm, and Tim did the same, still grinning. “One, two, three,” the boys said together, and Luke stayed with rock, while Tim opted for scissors.

They repeated the action again, this time with Tim pulling rock and Luke going scissors. The final outcome was determined when Tim defeated Luke with paper over rock. “We should have flipped coins or something,” said Luke, a dark look on his face.

“No sour grapes,” said Scott, laughing. “You agreed that this was the fairest way to decide who went first. You ready to see who goes second?”

“Yeah,” said Luke, the dark look already fading. “I beat you once, Scotty, I can beat you again.”

“All right, then, here we go,” said Scott. “Best two out of three.”