The Remedy (26 page)

“Oh hell no.”

It was quite a sight to see someone as intimidating as Grizzly run over to the cabin wall and bury her face in her arms while great big sobs racked her entire body. Her moans scraped at Leigh’s eardrums like a dull fork scratching an aged blackboard. If not for the green flannel shirt and dark wool pants, Grizzly most closely resembled a high school senior stood up by her prom date.

Clementine called over to her daughter, “Oh don’t you mind him, girl. You’re beautiful. He just hasn’t gotten to know you yet, that’s all.” She looked back to Sam and grinned. “But he will.”

Grizzly’s sobs quieted, but she remained facing the wall. Satisfied that she’d at least calmed down, Clementine turned her attention toward Leigh. “As for you…”

Bugger was practically jumping in place. “Can I do it now, Ma?”

“Do what?” Rob suddenly spoke up and took three long paces so that he stood between Bugger and his mother.

Clementine removed her glasses and gingerly rubbed her brow. “Yes, I suppose it’s time. But do it in the barn. We’ve already got a big enough mess in here.” She tried to wheel around Rob but he extended a foot to stop her left wheel.

“Do
what
in the barn?”

His aunt looked down at Rob’s sneakered foot blocking her way and then back up to him. “Fair’s fair,” she sighed. “You went off and killed Bugger’s woman, so he’s gotta get his turn now.”

Clementine turned her chair to navigate around Rob’s foot but her nephew leaped in front of her and grabbed the armrests. “Hold on just a minute.”

The fire behind the old woman’s eyes became hotter with every passing second.

“I thought Leigh was gonna be kept alive to keep the family going.”

Leigh expected the woman to cry out with an order to respect her authority, but instead, she smiled. “Now why would I want to go through all the trouble of keeping an outsider in my home for a whole nine months while we wait for a baby to pop out of her when my Grizzly girl could have the chance to experience motherhood herself? No, the boy will do his job, and this one here goes.”

“That’s right!” Bugger’s joy had reverted his behavior to that of a seven-year-old. “Ma said it was okay!”

Before Rob could mutter another word of protest, Bugger was pushing past him, a jackknife in his hand.

Leigh squirmed at the sight of the blade.

“No!”

But after squeezing her eyes shut and bracing for the cold bite of the knife, all she felt was the sudden relief of the ropes around her wrists breaking apart as Bugger cut her free from her chair and hoisted her over his shoulder to carry her away.

Away from Sam.

“Sam!” she bellowed, catching the frightened glance of her friend still securely bonded to his seat.

Again, he tried to break free, but he knew just as well as Leigh did that it would do no good. “Leigh!” he screamed. “Leave her alone!”

As Bugger fumbled for the knob on the front door, Leigh pounded as hard as she could on his back with her fists.

“That tickles,” Bugger said between chuckles. “You want me to tickle you?” The point of the jackknife blade just barely touched the exposed skin of Leigh’s lower back. She immediately stopped her attack upon feeling the sharp metal, going limp with defeat.

Before the front door swung open, Leigh watched as Clementine pointed a bony finger at Sam and said to Grizzly, “Go get your man, sweetheart.” As easily as Bugger had lifted Leigh, Grizzly hoisted Sam over her own shoulder and carried him into the back bedroom. Clementine followed closely behind, wheeling herself into the room.

Rob tried to follow. “Aunt Clemmy…wait!”

But when Clementine reached the door, she swiftly pivoted to face him and replied, “Now, little Robbie. You stay out of here. This is not for your eyes.”

Leigh and Sam exchanged one final glimpse before Clementine slammed the bedroom door shut, leaving Rob shaking the securely locked knob and screaming, “Aunt Clemmy? Aunt Clemmy!”

Rob’s voice faded as Bugger carried Leigh outside, down the porch steps, and toward a large barn about a hundred feet from the cabin. When Leigh saw the brilliant red light silhouetting the trees to the east, her first thought was that the forest had caught on fire. But then she realized the light dancing like flames was merely the warm, welcoming colors of daybreak—just the sunrise of another beautiful September day in Vermont.

Air rushed in and out of Jake’s nostrils noisily, like a bicycle pump in full use. With a slowly advancing river of blood creeping up on him from behind, Jake had managed to scoot himself halfway across the dusty floor of the ranger outpost. He had struggled greatly, having only the use of his knees to pull not only his own body weight, but that of the chair, still attached to him like a leech. Although his aching muscles begged for reprieve and his exhausted lungs threatened to call it quits at any moment, Jake kept an unwavering focus on the prize ahead: an opened, cardboard box with the word
supplies
written in black Sharpie across its side.

Trying to loosen the ropes with futile squirming wasn’t going to free him anytime soon. Phil had made sure of that before blowing his brains out in a Jackson Pollack splatter across the outpost’s windowpane. Jake knew his only chance of salvation lay waiting inside that box, be it in the form of a knife or anything plastic he could break into a jagged edge. Of course, it could just contain cans of food and bottled water, in which case he wouldn’t be going anywhere until another ranger happened to pass through.

But he had to try. He had to get free as soon as possible and report everything he had learned. He had to tell the rest of the department. The town of Embry. The world.

But where to begin?

Jake released an unexpected chuckle, an obvious sign of the stress chipping away at his composure. He had to get the goddamned giggles out of his system, an unnecessary exertion of energy that halted his progress to the box.

Christ, what a night
.

A reddish-orange beam of light penetrating the window and crossing directly in his path spread pleasant warmth across his face like a fleece blanket fresh from the clothes dryer. For a moment, Jake forgot all about the unattainable goal ahead and the flow of blood hotly pursuing him from behind. The darkness of night was momentarily trounced by the glory of morning.

The quick rest didn’t do much for Jake’s body, but his mind felt like it had just come off fresh from God’s assembly line. The morning light had burned away some of Jake’s doubt and hysteria, allowing him to refocus on his plan of attack. If he ever wanted to put the Humpty Dumpty of his life back together again, first things first: free himself and get back on his feet.

Which means you’ve got to reach that fucking box. So let’s do it
.

Jake groaned and threw his weight forward, crawling another six inches toward the cardboard container. Then another six inches. Then another foot. And just as his lower back seized in cramps, pain like a cobra’s fangs sinking into the tissue on both sides of his spine…

…his forehead connected with a heavenly smooth surface.

The box.

But Jake’s physical tribulations weren’t over yet. Craning his neck upward to the point where the tendons in his neck felt as though they would snap, Jake threw out his jaw to the opened flap above his head. Like a disobedient dog snatching at a treat, he clamped his teeth into the pliable, cardboard flap, its rough edge digging into his lower lip. Not wasting any time for fear that his muscles might fail him at any minute, Jake pulled downward with all the strength left in his body. His applied force combined with the natural assistance of gravity delivered the results he’d prayed for: the box flipped over, spilling its contents onto the floor.

Jake’s eyes darted from object to object, determined to find anything that could help him. “Supplies” could mean a lot of things, and the case of this upturned box, it meant matches, glow sticks, bottled water, and dynamite. Sticks upon sticks of dynamite.

“Shit.”

Jake let his head come to rest on the hardwood floor. He’d intended to shout the word in an act of furious frustration, but in the face of his overwhelming defeat he’d hardly uttered a whisper. After the effort it took to cross what felt like a mile-long distance using only his knees, apparently Jake’s only reward had been a way to blow himself up.

Looks like I should make myself comfortable
.

A radio sat on a table to his left, but it was only a tease to cruelly remind him of the impossibility of his escape. So high above him, the radio might as well have been balancing on the top of the Empire State Building. And even if he’d managed to stand his chair back up on its four legs and reach the desk, he had no way of pressing the buttons and switches necessary to make a call.

No, Jake knew he wasn’t going anywhere. All he could do now was lie on his side and stare at the plethora of useless items before him, the worst being the red sticks of explosives. They carried as much value as a pair of snowshoes on a desert island: all the dynamite offered was nitroglycerin cocooned in sawdust with a long fuse.

Then again, maybe blowing myself up isn’t such a bad—

A single stick poking out from underneath a box of matches caught his eye. Though the same color, shape, and size as the rest of the identical dynamite splayed across the floor, this stick had one very drastic difference that Jake cursed himself for not noticing sooner.

There was no fuse protruding from its top. Instead, a white plastic cap adorned its head like a soldier’s helmet. Though Jake couldn’t read from this distance what was printed on the stick’s side, he didn’t need to identify a label to know what he was looking at.

That’s a goddamned flare!

Whether the flare had been misidentified or purposely thrown in the box by a lazy ranger who didn’t care to thoroughly organize the outpost’s equipment didn’t matter in the slightest. All that mattered was that Jake now had a means of escape.

Of course, it was still far from ideal. Jake’s surge of excitement sizzled when he thought about what using the flare would entail. He was confident he’d be able to use his hands to remove the cap and strike the flare on its coarse striking surface, but in order to burn the rope on his wrists he’d have to torch far more than that. He would literally have to put his hands to the torch’s red-hot flame. He could only hope that the ropes would sever instantly. The pain would probably only allow for a second or two of burning at most. But it was either that or remain lying on the floor with his new roommate. And he didn’t think Phil would be much for conversation.

Taking a deep breath before commencing, Jake threw all the weight he could to his left, attempting to flip himself over. He only lifted himself an inch, and he knew he’d have to use his toes to scoot himself around 180 degrees.

The task was difficult and time-consuming, but luck on was on his side, allowing Jake just enough leverage with his feet to complete the entire rotation. With his back now to the pile of the box’s contents strewn across the ground, Jake reached out with his hands and felt for the stick with the plastic cap. It took several tries, but Jake found it.

Holding the stick with his dominant right hand, he pulled off the plastic cap, being careful not to drop it. His fingers allowed him to rotate the cap so that he could feel the roughness of the igniting surface underneath. He lined up the flare to the flint. Everything was ready.

Jake shut his eyes, attempting to control the nervous breath that rushed in and out of his lungs. He tried to assure himself it would all be over in the blink of an eye, that it wouldn’t even be as bad as getting a shot of Novocain before a cavity removal. Finally, he just had to smile and opened his eyes. There were just no two ways about it.

This was going to suck.

“Fuck me.”

Without giving himself the chance to second guess his actions, Jake struck the flare against the coarse surface as hard as he could.

He lunged forward and screamed the moment the hiss and color of the flare filled the room. His wrists and the bottoms of his palms felt as if he’d dunked them in a vat of molten lava. It was pure heat, the most intense pain Jake had ever felt in his life. The fire seemed to engulf his entire body, igniting his nerves everywhere with the sting of a thousand hornets. The burn of a thousand flames.

But though the pain seemed to last an eternity, the strength of the ropes did not. The rope was been dry and old, and the combination of the flare’s fire with all of Jake’s body weight lunging forward was far more than the binding could bear. The ropes gave and Jake flew forward, almost bashing his chin on his knees.

The flare dropped from his grip the moment the rope gave and released his wrists. Jake brought them to his chest, desperately trying to shake away the lingering pain. The skin on his palms had turned a deep red, and bubbles of fresh blisters ran along his wrists. But considering the direct exposure to the flame his hands had just endured, his injuries appeared much less severe than he’d expected. All in all, the process must have taken far less time than his pain had suggested, leaving him with just a small burn, second-degree at the most.

Ignoring his flesh that begged for cooling, Jake went straight for the ropes binding his feet to the legs of the chair. Fortunately, the flare had hardly touched his fingers, which made untying Phil’s expert knots infinitely easier. And with the amount of adrenaline still pumping through his system, Jake was sure he could’ve have easily ripped the ropes apart like the Incredible Hulk himself.

Standing upright and feeling the floor underneath his shoes had never felt so good, but Jake didn’t couldn’t spare any time to savor the sensation. He frantically dug up a bottle of water from the mess of the cardboard box, ripped off the cap, and drenched his tender skin. The water was the nectar of heaven, instantly cooling the burn. Jake repeated the process with two more bottles before drinking a fourth in large gulps. The last bottle in the box he used to douse the flare, applying what was left to his burns and pouring it down his still-parched throat.