Aric Davis - The Fort

With the pants off, Hooper steeled himself to finally look at his leg. Craning his head back, he could see a small black hole surrounded by blood. Coagulated blood, thick like pudding, was in and around the hole, along with a red stain that went all the way to the bottom of his foot.

Hooper limped back to the long-forgotten bags from Meijer and quickly found what he was looking for. He took the bottle of grain alcohol from the paper bag back to the kitchen, set it on the counter, and opened it. This is going to be bad, but you have to do it. Hooper dropped a towel on the floor, stood on it, and poured alcohol down his injured leg.

The raging fire of pain was instantaneous. It was a heat of pure white flame that seared up Hooper’s leg and all through his body, consuming his very thoughts. All that there was room for in his mind was pain, but he managed to replace the bottle on the counter and then pour a glass of water over his leg. The pain didn’t disappear, not fully, but it did temper, thanks to the dilution of the alcohol.

He let out a deep breath, then almost laughed at himself: the sound had been nearly orgasmic. He looked back at his leg. It was wetter than before, and most of the coagulate was washed from it, but otherwise it looked the same. Hooper grabbed the other glass of water, then hobbled away from the sink.

He made his way down the basement stairs, using his body to provide friction against the wall, so as not to tear the handrail from the wall. It seemed an eternity since his chase with Amy had reached its conclusion with the two of them tumbling down these steps, but it had been only a few hours earlier.

He came slowly off of the last step and looked at the cause of all of this. She was bound as she’d been when he left her, and he could tell that she was at least temporarily resigned to her imprisonment. The pole she was attached to had been painted red, and if she’d been trying to escape, there would have been paint shavings on the ground and on her hands.

Amy was either asleep or pretending to be so, and Hooper wanted to wake her so that he could discuss his injury with her, as well as the need to punish her for her attempted escape earlier that morning. He couldn’t fault her for trying to get away, but it was still a behavior that needed to be broken from her, just like one would teach a child not to interrupt, or not to speak with a mouth full of food.

Hooper watched her lying there, beautiful in such a perfect way, and he decided that he’d let her sleep. He left the glass of water next to her, then made his way slowly up the stairs before shutting off the light.

It was still light outdoors, but Hooper ignored the window. He sat down heavily on the sofa, after turning on the TV. He had little use for the thing, especially right after one of his little hunting trips, but this was different. After all, Amy was here. He let his mind focus on the screen, and found a news station. There were boring stories about Iraq—who could possibly care?—and then, finally, his story. He beamed at the screen. They had found the body he’d left at the drive-in. Everything was coming together perfectly, except for getting shot. They’ll figure out time of death soon enough, and then they’ll decide whoever claims to have shot me is full of shit. It had been hard work, stealing a girl Amy’s size, killing her, smashing her teeth with a hammer, then burning her and leaving her in a shallow grave, but all the effort had been worth it.

29

When Luke’s mom finally came home, it was dark out and she was wasted. Luke had to help carry her to the couch. She fell asleep almost instantly, rolling over and then snoring. Ashley and Alisha had just watched him help her, moving off the couch only when it became obvious that was where Luke meant to put her. There was something depressing about having a mom who was too much of a wreck to even punish him, and Luke left her there to walk back to his room.

When Van Endel had come back to the room to tell him he was leaving with the Benchleys, Luke had been confused. Van Endel and that doctor lady had never even come back to talk to him. By the time he saw Mrs. Benchley and how furious she was, Luke had figured out most of it, all but the part about their finding Molly. That’s where they were wrong, though. The body they found couldn’t have been Molly. Mrs. Benchley had said that Molly had been dead for days, but that wasn’t true, they had all seen her, and not one of them had questioned whether or not it was her. Why would they lie about something so terrible? A kidnapped kid, even a kidnapped teenager, was no laughing matter, and for Tim’s and Scott’s parents to think their kids capable of such a thing was almost as terrible as his own mother’s condition.

Reviewing everything in his head, Luke figured it was likely that both Tim and Scott were going to be grounded for lengthy periods of time. Which left a whole separate issue: Molly. Mrs. Benchley had said that the body they found had been burned days earlier. How long would it take to check her fingerprints, or her teeth, if she was too badly burned, and realize they had the wrong girl? Too long. And really, any amount of time was too long. They knew three things. Molly wasn’t dead, or at least she hadn’t been this morning; the person who took her likely lived in the same area as they did, probably in Tim and Scott’s neighborhood; and, most importantly, he had a gunshot wound in his right leg.

School was going to be a mess. They were headed for seventh grade and were likely to be branded as liars, a tag that would stick through the end of high school. After all, who would forget something like this? It was clear what needed to happen. They needed to find out where she’d been taken and see if she was still there. And either way, at that point, get the cops involved again, to save Molly, along with their reputations.

But how am I going to be able to do that on my own?

That was a tougher problem, tougher by a lot. It would be hard enough to find Molly and the man who took her with all three of them out and free, but with his friends on what he could only assume was lockdown, it seemed like it was going to be up to him.

The thought made Luke slump on his bed. He was just a regular kid, not some twelve-year-old genius detective. This would be hard with all three of us, really hard, but I know I’m not smart enough to do it on my own. Luke didn’t even know where to start an investigation like that. Molly had just disappeared into the trees, and if the wounded man had left any sort of blood trail, the cops hadn’t been able to find it. Why did it have to rain?

Then an idea began to form in his head. Not a brilliant one, but a small one, that could perhaps be added to with a little bit of luck. Luke figured they were due for some good luck—all three of them were, but especially him. He packed a bag with clothes, a small amount of food, and three Sprite caps. He left a note on the counter saying he would be back in a day or two, tops, and then waved at his zombified sisters as he left. They didn’t even blink.

Scott had never felt so shell-shocked in his life. He had been ready to try to explain away some part of the story that got muddled because of Luke’s shooting that guy, and maybe to get called out on it, but this was much worse than anything he could have anticipated. Carl had said that he was never going to be able to hang out with Luke or Tim ever again, and his mom had agreed with him—that was the ultimate betrayal. It would have been one thing for Carl to say something like that, and to then have his mom tell him that he was out of bounds, but she went right along with it. Why should Carl get to decide who he was friends with? It’s not like he’s my real dad. Just because he married my mom doesn’t give him the right to ruin my life. It was all just so unfair, and no one was even willing to listen to them.