Aric Davis - The Fort

Hooper leaned back on the couch, letting the sun come through the drapes and bathe his face in the light. It was wonderful, and the only thing missing was Amy. As soon as this was all settled, things were going to be right. Maybe they could even go outside again together. Not away from the house, of course, but they could go in the backyard with its high fence. Now, though, he needed to be vigilant and hold the house until help came. His guys knew where he was, and it wasn’t going to take forever for them to get him out of here, just longer than he wanted them to. That’s how it was with Big Green, though, a never-ending waiting game.

His leg was throbbing again, like it had been before he’d sliced his pants, and Hooper decided it was from the pressure of it lying on the couch. He picked his leg up, then spun, so that he was lying on his right side and he could kneel with his hurt leg on the floor. Fuck, it’s cold in here. He ran a hand across his forehead. Sweat was beading up, and his scalp felt on fire. Letting his hand fall away, he knew that his injuries needed time and rest. He closed his eyes, falling asleep immediately, and was transported back to Vietnam, back to the jungle. They were after him, but he was going to win.

50

Luke woke with the sun. The fort rarely got hot, not truly hot, but it was all but roasting inside this morning. Luke groaned and sat up, then finished the last of the warm Coke he’d brought the day before. It was flat and hot, but better than nothing. Then he took the gun Scott had taken and slid it into his pocket, walked to the ladder, and began to slowly climb down.

It was early, but not too early, and he knew that if he didn’t go to that house soon and knock, he’d lose his nerve. If his mom had finally called him in as a runaway, getting picked up with a gun was going to be bad. Letting his friends down because this seemed even scarier now than it had before would be even worse.

He was, after all, the only one of them who could do this. The cops didn’t believe them, their parents didn’t believe them, his friends were locked away. So Luke felt as if he had no choice but to knock on that door and then decide if he knew what was going on. Still, as he stepped from the ladder to the forest floor, he felt pure terror. His world was changing, and not for the better. The gun had grown yet heavier overnight, and this felt all too real.

He strode through the trees, feeling as though he’d spent the last few days as a ghost, unsure of what he was looking for or why he was even alive at all. The woods were vibrant and alive, and even with the potentially dangerous task before him, Luke felt more in tune with the world than he could recall ever having felt in his life. By the time his feet were on the blacktop headed to Hooper’s house, Luke no longer felt scared, nor did he feel like some comic-book version of himself. This was real, and it was something he needed to do.

The house loomed before him in a way that Luke figured was happening to no one else. The closer he got to it, the more mysterious it appeared, turning from just another house in the suburbs into something more than the sum of its parts. If we’re right, that will always be the house where a kidnapped girl was held. The neighbors will tell stories until it’s eventually torn down, and whether they rebuild or it remains an empty lot, for as long as this street remains, that will be a marked spot. It was almost like seeing something that shouldn’t have been there, like something impossible. Finally, deciding he was making too much out of it, Luke walked to the front door.

His heart was thrumming in his chest as he knocked on the door with his left fist. His right hand was wrapped tightly around the pistol in his pocket. He waited a few seconds and then heard a loud thump from inside the house, along with someone groaning. The door swung open quickly, and Luke knew at once that he’d picked the right house, and that he’d also made a horrible mistake.

The man standing in the doorway was wearing an army uniform that was ill fitting. Too tight across the belly and chest, but loose in the arms. The pants had been slit up the right leg, and Luke could see puffy, black-and-blue flesh with red tendrils of infection crawling up and out of sight. The man was holding a large black pistol, with an impossibly huge hole at the end of it. His finger was on the trigger, and the gun was shaking. “VC motherfucker,” the man said. “Zipper-head cocksucker.” He grabbed Luke’s arm, and Luke was fumbling with the gun as he was dragged into the house. The man slammed the door behind them, and no one saw any of it.

Luke landed on the floor, and he fought his pants for the revolver. Finally the gun came free and clattered to the floor. The man looked at Luke over his gun, and then to the pistol, back and forth. Luke dove for the weapon, and the man said, “If you touch that heater, I’ll put one in your back, Charlie.” His voice was gravelly and thick, like he had a mouth full of syrup and marbles. Luke left the gun where it was and sat up, tears streaming down his face. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Where are the rest of you?” the man asked, and Luke just shook his head. “Where are the rest of the VC? Where are they? I know you were on that sniper team. But guess what? I’m not dead. You missed, VC motherfucker.” The man spit on the floor. It was thick and yellow, as though the infection in his leg were eating him up from the inside. Luke ignored it and began trying to inch slowly toward the gun. “Tell me, you fuck. Slope motherfucker. How many are you? What is the plan?”

Luke grabbed for the gun. There was a noise in the room like thunder, the loudest thing he’d ever heard, and then he was back in the fort playing rock-paper-scissors. It was summer and it was wonderful, and then the world went black.

51

Van Endel woke with the sun. He shaved, showered, and ate quickly, and decided as he flipped through his Moleskine that he would stop at Luke Hutchinson’s house first. He was the only one of the three boys whom Van Endel hadn’t spoken with after he’d initially gotten their permission to talk, and he figured that was as good a place to start as any, especially since the boy’s mother had never made an appearance at the station. He was familiar with the area they lived in from his time spent as a uniform breaking up fights and busting drunks. It was one of the low-income spots on the north end.

Van Endel parked the Caprice and checked the address on the trailer with the one in his book. He was at the right place. The house was fairly nondescript and seemed to be in the same state of lazy disrepair as the ones around it—not trashed yet, but on the way there.

He walked down a short path, the heat of the day making beads of sweat appear on his hairline. Thank God Doc and I really did have only one last night. Weather like this makes even a little hangover unbearable. Van Endel knocked twice on the door and counted to sixty in his head as nothing happened. He knocked again, harder this time, and for longer. Van Endel gave a look to his watch. It was early, 9:00 a.m., but not crazy early.

There was a noise at the back of the trailer, and then the sound of a door slamming. Curious now, Van Endel walked around back and saw a man with his pants down to his knees attempting to scale a fence surrounding the park.

“Get down right now,” said Van Endel, his gun and badge appearing in his hands as easily as taking a breath.

The man did so and began fiddling with his pants, which, as it turned out, were on backward.

“On the ground,” said Van Endel. “Forget your pants, buddy, just get your ass down.”

The man complied, lying flat on the lawn. Van Endel cuffed him, then stood him up, holstered his pistol, and pulled the man’s pants up and buckled them behind his back.