CHAPTER 35
Tim pushed his way through the bulwark of staggered trees and bushes planted along the far side of Terrace Street, those set up in an organized attempt to blend the landscaped embankment into the surrounding wild forest.
Once under windblown treetops, it only took him a few seconds to locate the earth-packed lanes of the bike trails. Even in the darkness he maneuvered his way along the paths with ease, having traveled them enough to be familiar with every twist, turn, and fork. Choosing a route that would take him to the railroad tracks—which he could follow all the way back to Loretto in half the time of traveling normal roads—he started home.
In the woods, he wouldn’t run into Mallory and her friends again, either.
Before he’d made his discreet exit from her house, he’d overheard her suggestion of a trip to the old barn. Walking along the street, they might have spotted him on their way out to the fields, and he didn’t feel like explaining why he’d left the house without telling anyone.
Wind gusted hard into the surrounding trees, and their branches moaned in protest. Off in the forest smaller plants mimicked the noise, sounding like the muffled whispers of unknown creatures.
Tim trod forward without pause, his eyes focused on the dirt.
A three-foot long branch had fallen across the path, and he kicked it out the way, imagining it was Derrick.
Two paces later he scooped up a rock and hurled it after the branch.
“Asshole,” he yelled.
He stormed onward, unzipping the jacket he’d taken from his mother’s car and put on to armor himself against mosquitoes. The night’s breeze was keeping them at bay and the added clothing only made him sweaty.
Someone laughed.
It sounded sharp and squeaky against the tranquilizing shift of nature, and Tim snapped up his head to see a huge black figure emerged into view barely fifty feet away. It glided toward him on the path with frightening fluidity, moving like a sentient glob of darkness out of a Lovecraftian nightmare.
Tim stopped dead in his tracks, rooted in place by fear. His nerves charged with energy, prepping his muscles to run, but then the advancing hulk broke apart, separating into the silhouettes of three teenagers riding bikes along the trail.
Fear melted into humiliation, and Tim’s shoulders sagged as the tension drained from his body. He wiped his brow, now picking up the first hints of jocular conversation and laughter. He started forward once more, composing himself so he wouldn’t look too geeked-out when they passed him.
But his fear returned when he recognized the loudest voice in the group.
Brad Hill!
“Oh, shit.”
Tim scrambled off the trail and took cover within the foliage, wincing with each sound made beneath his shoes.
He didn’t know if Brad still wanted revenge for the dodge ball incident, but if he did, Tim could only imagine what the larger boy would do to him out here in the woods.
The three drew closer. Thirty feet away now. Twenty-five.
Tim wondered how brave Mallory would think he was if she could see him now, cowering like a rabbit in the presence of a wolf.
He positioned himself behind a tree trunk less than four feet off the trail, not daring to chance looking for a better spot deeper in the woods. If he stepped on a brittle stick, he might call their attention.
Smarter to ease around as they pass. Just keep the tree between us, hide in the shadows.
From where he crouched, he saw the occasional red glow of a cigarette flare brighter when one of them inhaled, and he could vaguely make out their black shirts and dark jeans.
Tim held his breath, hoping they’d pass without—
Suddenly, the plants thrashed with movement at his back, rustled by something deeper in the trees. Before he could look, an object shot over his head like a bullet, sending shredded leaves fluttering to the ground behind it.
Tim held his breath to keep from gasping when he realized what had happened.
To confirm his fear, the silhouette on the far right of Brad’s group jerked backward, crying out in pain.
“Oh God, no,” Tim whispered.
The boy fell off his bike and crashed to the ground, howling through clapped hands locked over his mouth. Tim heard one of the others say something about a rock.
Tim looked over his shoulder and tried to find the attacker, but saw nothing past his own hiding spot. Just black plant stalks on a blacker background.
A light clicked on and swept over the bushes. It caught the back of Tim’s head in its beam, causing his shadow to flee over the plants ahead of him.
“There,” Brad’s voice boomed.
“Get the fucker,” another roared.
Their bikes hit the dirt, followed by the sound of footfalls thundering toward the tree he squatted behind.
“It wasn’t me,” Tim cried. He lunged from his hiding spot and sprinted onto the trail. “It wasn’t me!”
“It’s Flemwad,” Brad hollered.
Tim heard the sound of combat boots pounding the ground behind him as the older boys gave chase, and Tim took off like it was qualification day at track tryouts. He knew they wouldn’t give him the slightest chance to explain if they caught him—not that they’d believe him, even if they did. The mere thought caused tears to slide from his eyes and stream down his cheeks.
“Someone’s not going home tonight,” one of the pursuers laughed.
They closed fast, bearing down on him like charging bulls.
At the last second, he dodged to the right and took one of the forks in the path, hoping to double back to Mallory’s neighborhood. But no sooner had he made the turn when he discovered a massive cottonwood had collapsed across the trail ahead, its thick branches cutting off his escape with the effectiveness of a ten-foot-high fence.
Trapped!
“You’re dead, asshole,” Brad yelled. “Dead!”
Tim stopped hard, skidding on the dry soil. He wheeled around to face the teens.
The two boys sprinted forward. They had sticks.
With barely enough time to think, he scanned his surroundings and managed to locate a broken glass bottle to the side of the trail. He snatched it up by the neck and thrust its jagged end forward.
“Stay back,” Tim hollered. He thrust the broken end of glass bottle forward. “Keep away or I’ll use this, I swear I will.”
Brad and his friends kept their distance, but the confident looks on their faces didn’t waver.
“What are you gonna do?” Brad’s friend asked. “Give a speech on recycling?”
Tim ignored the comment. “I didn’t throw that rock.”
“Screw you, Flemwad,” Brad roared. “You drop that thing, or I swear I’ll shove it up your ass.”
“No!”
“Drop it.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“I’ll count to three, you little shit.”
“I didn’t throw the rock!”
“One.”
“Honest, I didn’t.”
“Two.”
Fresh tears bunched at the corners of Tim’s eyes, then spilled down his cheeks. He could smell the reek of alcohol on their breath.
Brad and his friend edged closer, testing Tim’s threat.
He backed up a step, a move that only brought a wider smile to Brad’s face.
A white flash appeared at the edge of Tim’s vision, a faint undulation of light that pulsated from within the forest. It flew at him like a lightning bolt, vanishing again before he had a chance to see what it was.
The fight exploded like an avalanche blasting out of a mountain tree line. Everything happened at once. In contrast, time seemed to slow while Tim’s mind recorded and processed every action, and the oncoming assaults advanced in slow motion.
Brad surged forward, hands out—one reaching for the bottle, the other going for Tim’s throat. The second kid hefted the stick he’d been carrying and readied it like a baseball bat.