Dismember

TEN

As the truck drove over the gravel roads, Zach bounced on his seat and thought about his pants pocket. The seatbelt pinned his arms to his sides, and although he thought he probably could have gotten them out with a wiggle or two and a couple of bent elbows, he left them where they were and pretended he was bound up tight. He still wasn’t sure just exactly what was happening to him, what the rules of the situation were—more importantly, what he could get away with and what might get him killed. He wanted to reach for his pocket, see if the object that had been there earlier was still there now—all he’d have to do was bend forward a little and stretch out his fingers—but he didn’t dare. Not yet.

The truck hit an large dip in the road, and Zach bounced so high he thought his head would slam into the ceiling. It didn’t, but he did land on his left leg in an awkward way that pinched the skin just behind his knee. He hissed. The man behind the wheel looked at him, but Zach didn’t look back, pretended nothing had happened. He wouldn’t give this psycho the satisfaction of watching him squirm.

The man (Davy was the only name he’d mentioned, though he’d actually said he used to be Davy, a comment Zach hadn’t really understood) came almost to a stop at the next intersection and took a left without using his blinker. Zach slid sideways in his seat until his body pressed against the door. He felt the lump in his pocket dig into his right thigh and bit his lip to keep from whooping with joy. Still there. Thank God. He only wished he’d remembered it earlier, when he could have used it.

As they moved, Zach watched for road signs, looking for some indication of where they were going. His head ached where he’d hit it on the tree fort’s railing, and sometimes his vision swam a little, though only briefly. If he could remember a few landmarks, maybe a couple of road names, he could get help later, could tell them how to come and save him. The problem was, he didn’t see any signs or markers, and the only junctions were with unmarked dirt roads that looked almost exactly the same one after another. The back road led through trees and trees and then finally some more trees; Zach didn’t think anybody could rescue him with directions that referred only to the differences between the passing foliage.

The radio sputtered like a broken water faucet. Zach didn’t understand how the guy could drive with all that meaningless noise when it made Zach so totally crazy. He wanted to reach up a foot and kick at the radio’s dials until it shut the crap up. But of course he wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t say anything because he had no way of knowing if it might set the lunatic off. What seemed like a perfectly reasonable request to Zach might be an insult to the whacko. Zach might end up with a fist to the temple, or the guy might push him out the door as they rounded a sharp curve and send Zach rolling down a rocky incline. Or maybe he’d just pull out a gun and blow off Zach’s head. Zach hadn’t actually seen a firearm, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one around, and until he knew for sure one way or the other, he would expect the worst. Which meant that currently he was picturing his brains dripping down the windshield and thinking he could probably put up with a little white noise.

The man spun the steering wheel and turned onto one of the unmarked dirt roads, whistling something that sounded similar to the theme from the Superman movies. Almost, but not quite, like the man had gotten Superman and something else crossed up in his mind and turned the two of them into something all his own.

Zach ground his teeth and prayed he could get out of the truck. He’d almost stopped noticing the smell of blood, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the man’s blood-streaked face or his wide, maniacal eyes. He didn’t want to get used to them. If he ever thought these kinds of things were normal, he’d be crazier than the kidnapper.

Kidnapper. The word entered Zach’s mind for the first time, although it was clearly the perfect word for the situation. He’d been kidnapped, and the whistling, bloody weirdo who claimed to have killed his mother was his kidnapper.

Zach could blink back the tears at the thought of his mother only because he didn’t really believe she was dead, despite the blood and the man’s claims. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t. Hurt, maybe, but not dead. After he got help, they’d go and they’d find her and she would be fine. Just fine.

The pain above his eye flashed. He risked a glance at the driver, whose eerie whistling had quieted a little but hadn’t stopped. The long sweaty lines down the sides of his face made him look scarred. Zach wished he could scar the guy. Scar him or worse.

He never should have run. His mom was back home right that minute, bleeding and hurt. Maybe hurt bad. He shouldn’t have run. He should have stayed and fought the guy, grabbed a knife from the drawer or a frying pan to bash in his head. Something. And he definitely shouldn’t have gone up to his tree fort. God, that had been such a stupid move; he’d treed himself like an idiot raccoon. Although he wasn’t sure how the guy could have known it. Zach had watched him leave the house and come straight toward him, not looking around, not searching, just flying right at him like he’d had Zach on his radar the whole time.

They made another left, and Zach felt the thing in his pocket punch into his leg again. It was his mother’s, really—Zach had gone back to her bedroom to get it for her before any of this mess had started—and he couldn’t wait to give it back to her, but for now he needed it more than he’d ever needed anything in his life.

He only hoped she’d set it to silent, or at least vibrate—otherwise one mistimed call might ruin everything. He still had a chance, if the guy didn’t check his pockets when they stopped, and the cell phone got reception wherever they were going, and, of course, the guy didn’t kill him somewhere between here and there.

Ignoring the hiss from the radio and the whistling that sounded as if it had come from the soundtrack to the kind of late-night horror movie he was never supposed to see, Zach continued watching for road signs. He wouldn’t give up until one of the two of them was dead.