Thunderland (30 page)

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, sir.”

“Ah, get out of here, man!” Smiling, he handed Jason another ten-dollar bill and shooed him away. “Don’t come back here until you know how to speak to your elders with respect.”

Jason went outside and mounted his bike. He had accepted that for most of that day he would have to behave as though he were a normal kid enjoying the Fourth of July. In his family, missing the big Fourth cookout was akin to a Catholic priest missing Sunday Mass. No one ever skipped it. He didn’t consider blowing it off.

Besides, what would he do if he skipped the picnic? Stay home and leap out of the tree? He had proved yesterday that he lacked the guts. A loser like him deserved to suffer by sitting all day at the family barbecue.

The grocery store was packed. Herds of customers milled through the aisles, their shopping carts groaning under the weight of last-minute holiday purchases. He picked up a container of lighter fluid and then stopped at the magazine and book area.

He smiled ruefully as he surveyed the paperback thrillers. While many of them seemed fascinating, he doubted they could match the story of his life. Real life had become ten times stranger than fiction.

Although he did not have the peace of mind to read, he bought a mystery novel. The idea that he would eventually have the opportunity to enjoy it encouraged him and fueled the optimistic notion that he would get through all of this alive.

When he stepped outside the supermarket, the grocery bag in one hand and a can of Pepsi in the other, his optimism diminished.

Before entering the store, he had parked his bike in the bicycle stall at the corner of the building. Now the stall was empty. Someone had stolen his bike!

He could not believe it. He turned around, thinking he must have actually entered the building from the opposite direction. What he saw when he swung around made him drop the Pepsi.

Blake Grant. The bully.

Blake sat on Jason’s bicycle, less than ten feet away, blocking Jason’s path to the supermarket entrance. He rolled back and forth, back and forth, only a few inches each time, like an angry bull gathering strength for a mad charge. Except for one new feature, he looked exactly as he had when Jason had eluded him in the forest earlier that week. Sleeveless black T-shirt, faded jeans, scuffed combat boots. Tanned, bulging muscles. Hawkish face. The tightly wound ponytail. And the black eye patch.

“You thought I forgot about you?” Blake said. He motioned to his new feature, a splint on his nose that he must have got as a result of the kick Jason had delivered while on his way over the car lot fence. “Do you think I could forget after this?”

Jason opened his mouth to say something and discovered he could not speak. Something cold and wet soaked his feet. He looked down and saw the cola he had dropped. Its foaming contents oozed into his shoes.

He looked up. Blake had edged forward a few more feet. His single eye blazed like a hot sapphire.

“I’ve been looking for your ass all week, and I’ve finally found you. You’re not getting away, dude. Don’t try to run.”

Someone clutched Jason’s shoulder from behind. Startled, Jason dropped the grocery bag.

“Keep your mouth shut,” a voice said, close to his ear. It sounded like Bryan Green, Blake’s pal. “You’re gonna come with us, got it?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. Travis Young, the fat kid, walked up behind Blake. He grinned at Jason, but it was the mean, hard grin of someone who got off on inflicting pain—like a kid who enjoyed squashing bugs.

The three boys crowded him, sweaty, breathing hard, primed for violence. Jason didn’t have space to run or even to swing a fist.

“We’re gonna take a trip to the woods behind the store,” Blake said. A switchblade appeared in his hand as if by magic. “If you give me any shit, Brooks, I’ll skewer you like a shish kebab.”

“Yeah, sure, anything you say. Just don’t kill me.”

Blake laughed. “Don’t worry, dude, if you stay cool, I won’t kill you. I’ll only do what I’ve been wanting to do all along: kick your ass so bad that, when I’m done, you’ll wish you were dead.”

He poked Jason in the stomach with the knife. Jason held back a cry of pain. Travis grabbed one of his arms; Bryan grabbed the other.

“Get moving,” Blake said.

* * *

As they rounded the side of the supermarket, moving out of view of the people in the parking lot, Jason heard a noise like keys jingling on a chain. The next thing he knew, Travis and Bryan wrenched his arms behind his back, and they slapped a pair of cold handcuffs onto his wrists.

Like a match enkindling tinder, the click of the engaging handcuffs ignited Jason’s imagination. What were they going to do to him?

Imagining their possible schemes escalated his anxiety. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth, as if he had tried to eat a spoonful of glue. Sweat streamed down his chest and back.

He attempted to force apart his bound wrists. No good.

He still wore the .22 in the ankle holster, concealed under his jeans. He would’ve used the pistol to scare the kids away if his hands weren’t chained. So much for the usefulness of a gun.

About two hundred yards behind the store, thick forest thrived. The huge elms, oaks, and maples cast such deep shade that it seemed as though night had fallen underneath their leafy boughs. The area looked deserted, too.

Dark, desolate woods. Bound hands. A knife at his back. What did all of that add up to?

Maybe a beating. Or maybe murder.

The thought of murder did not seem to be a product of his overactive imagination. Sure, Blake had promised that he was only going to beat him up, but how reliable was a promise from a person like him? A kid who, from all available evidence, was as psychopathic as a convicted killer? His chances of winning the state lottery were greater than the chances of Blake’s word meaning anything.

And these days, kids slaughtered one another all the time. Bullies no longer stole your lunch money and sent you home with a black eye. Instead, they stole your money, your jewelry, your designer clothing, beat you half to death with a pistol, then used that same gun to blow your brains out just for the hell of it. Blake could do anything to him.
Anything.

His heartbeat raced.

They left the asphalt behind the supermarket and entered the forest. Dank shadows embraced them like old friends, and the humid air smelled of rotted wood and dead things. Tall weeds crunched underneath their feet, clouds of buzzing insects fleeing out of their path.

For an instant, Blake eased the blade off Jason; Jason heard him slam the bike to the ground. Then Blake was on him again, pressing the knife in his back.

“Are you getting scared?” Blake said. “Are you about to piss your pants?” Jason did not reply. He did not want to hear the fear in his voice, afraid that hearing it would somehow intensity his terror.

Blake poked him with the blade.

“Answer me, boy. Are you scared?”

“Yeah, man, I’m scared, okay? Who wouldn’t be scared?”

“Did you hear that, dudes?” Blake chuckled. “The dick-head’s gonna shit his pants.”

Travis and Bryan, both of them gripping Jason’s arms, laughed.

“I’m gonna get you for kicking me in the nuts, asshole,” Travis said. He giggled. “I’m gonna smash your balls until you puke.”

Bryan tightened his hot grip on Jason’s arm. “I’m gonna beat you just because I feel like it. I haven’t kicked anyone’s ass since ... oh, yesterday, I guess.” He laughed.

I’m dead,
Jason thought.
I’ll need plastic surgery after these guys finish with me
...
and if Blake goes overboard, maybe a casket.

Deep in the forest, they reached a small clearing. The area had a look that made Jason suspect this was a hideaway for Blake and his buddies. Tamped-down grass. Obscene messages etched into the bark of surrounding trees. A mound of ashes and charred wood in the center, the ghost of a recent campfire. Cigarette butts, beer bottles, and empty potato chip bags littering the ground.

“Home at last,” Blake said. Jason felt the knife leave his back, then a sharp whack against the side of his head. He cried out and stumbled forward, but the two boys did not let him go. They laughed while his head throbbed in pain.

“Goddamn,” Blake said, behind Jason. “I smack him, and he whimpers like a girl. You’re a pussy.”

“Fuck you, “Jason said. Blake grunted. Jason heard the click of Blake sheathing his blade. Putting it away in favor of another weapon?

“Turn that asshole around, dudes,” Blake said. “The fun’s about to start.”

Roughly they spun Jason around to face Blake. Blake slipped gleaming brass knuckles onto his fingers. Grinning, he clenched and unclenched his hand.

‘We’re gonna start out with some face rearrangement,” Blake said. “After that, Travis’ll crush your nuts; Bryan’ll do whatever the hell he wants, then I’m taking another turn. We believe in everyone getting an equal opportunity to kick ass, don’t we, boys?”

“Hell, yeah!” Travis and Bryan said.

I’m dead, Jason
thought.

Thunder rumbled.

Jason’s heart began to pound harder. He recognized the thunder. It was unmistakable.

They were in Thunderland.

The Stranger must be there, too. What was he planning to do now?

The woods, already dark, darkened as thunderclouds covered the sky.

“Shit,” Bryan said, looking skyward. “Dude, it’s gonna rain.”

Thunder clapped, a deep-throated boom that made the trees tremble.

“I don’t give a fuck about some storm,” Blake said. “I’m kicking your ass, Brooks, even if the sky falls down on me.”

Lightning flickered, briefly illuminating the woods.

Thunder crashed, rumbles that spread like shock waves
across the ground.

Blake scowled at the stormy sky. He glared at Jason. He clenched his fist.

A strange power entered Jason’s body.

A blast of shocking coldness struck the top of Jason’s head, rushing under his scalp and streaking through his brain, leaving his nerves icy and numb. Freezing energy flowed like ice water down his face, coursing through his neck, spreading through his shoulders, shooting into his arms, hands, and fingers. Intense power flooded his chest and stomach, streaming down his thighs and calves and finally into his feet, where it hit his toes and made them feel as frigid as if they were buried in snow.

Invaded by that chilling, alien energy, Jason’s body abruptly felt as though it had been given a massive dose of Novocain. He could not feel the boys holding his arms anymore, though they still held him tightly. He could not feel his feet on the ground. He could not feel anything.

He tried to turn his head. He could not.

He tried to speak. He could not open his mouth.

He was not only numb; he was unable to control his body, too.

Somehow, the Stranger must have done this to him. But how? Why? One eye gleaming hatefully, Blake came forward, brass-knuckled fist cocked.

An invisible force drove Jason’s hands apart, snapping the handcuffs in half. As if guided by puppet strings, Jason’s hands whipped around in front of him, breaking the holds of both Travis and Bryan.

Bryan and Travis stood frozen, shocked expressions on their faces.