Trapped

felt even more frightened.

“You gotta talk to me, or I’m gonna freak out.”

Me, too. But I can do this.

Sara crawled off, slowly circling the girl. By judging where Laneesha’s voice was coming from, she should be able to cover the area in a widening spiral, without missing any spots or getting lost. In theory, at least.

“If y’all remembered, I voted for horseback riding for our last trip, not camping on some scary ass island. I’ve never been on a horse before. That will be one of the first things I do when I get out of juvee. Sara, you there?”

“I’m here.” The ground was rough under Sara’s palms, sticks and rocks poking her, cold dirt wedging beneath her fingernails. She went counter-clockwise, gradually orbiting away from Laneesha.

“I don’ wanna go to juvee, Sara. I feel like I been making progress, y’know?”

Sara couldn’t hold the darkness back. She had to focus on something else. On finding the light. On finding Martin. On Laneesha.

Focus on Laneesha. Be there for her.

“You’re doing great, Laneesha.”

Laneesha was making progress. Sara had no doubt that when she was allowed back in society, she’d do well. After getting pregnant at sixteen, Laneesha began stealing to make ends meet. When she got arrested at a department store for attempting to steal several thousand dollars worth of jewelry, the state took her daughter. Since coming to the Center, Laneesha had worked hard, studied for her GED, and showed impressive determination to go straight and get her child back.

“You’ve only got a month left until your next hearing, Laneesha. It will fly by. You just need to stay out of trouble until then.”

“Y’all be at court with me?”

Sara touched a bush ahead of her, feeling through the branches, shaking them to see if they were hiding the light. They weren’t. The darkness seemed to get thicker.

“Of course I’ll be there.”

“Martin, too?”

“Martin, too.”

“Even though y’all are getting’ divorced?”

Sara stopped and looked in Laneesha’s direction, even though she couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of her. “Divorced? Where did you hear that?”

“Didn’t hear it. Takin’ a guess. You both don’ look at each other like you used to. Figure now the Center is breaking up, y’all will too.”

Sara chewed her lower lip. She and Martin had been growing apart for a while, but when the government cut the Center’s funding he withdrew completely. That was the definition of ironic; two psychologists specifically trained to understand human nature and communication, unable to save their marriage even though they still loved each other.

The only thing left was for Martin to sign the divorce papers. But he hadn’t yet. They arrived yesterday, but instead of getting it over with he chose instead to ignore them, and her.

Sara knew their marriage was over. Once communication failed, so did intimacy. But she still entertained the fantasy of miraculously patching things up over campfire stories and sleeping bag snuggling.

That fantasy faded when Martin pulled this stunt and disappeared into the woods. This trip could have been their chance to really connect, to talk it out, to mend. Instead, she was crawling around on all fours, sorry she ever met the guy.

Scratch that. She could never think that way about Martin. They might not be able to live together any more, but the love was still there. Sara knew the love would always be there.

But right now, she wanted to stab the jerk in the eye. Figuratively, of course.

“Sara? Where you at?”

“I’m here.”

“You sound far.”

“I’m only a few yards away, Laneesha. The flashlight has to be close. Shit!”

“What? Sara, you okay? Sara!”

“I caught a nail on something. Damn, I think I broke it off.”

The pain surged, sharp and hot. Sara parted her lips reflexively, ready to suck her injury. She stopped before her hand reached her mouth, a horrible stench wafting up from the ground. It blanketed her tongue and invaded her nostrils, rank and vile and forcing her to gag.

The unmistakable smell of rot.

“Sara? You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sara coughed, spat. The odor brought back memories of her college years, coming back to her dorm after Christmas break to find her goldfish belly-up in the aquarium. When she lifted up the tank cover, the smell of decay was so bad she gagged and spit up.

That was just from a tiny little fish. This stench was coming from something much bigger.

Sara backed away, and her other hand locked onto a large branch. She gripped it, instinct telling her a weapon would be good. She yanked, but it was wedged in the dirt.

The smell got worse, so bad it was like being immersed in spoiled milk. Sara could feel it in her eyes, her hair, all over her skin and on her clothes.

Another tug and the branch broke free from the ground, her fingers clenching it tight.

And then the same instinct that made her grab it told her to throw it away. But Sara was too frightened to open her hand.

The smell was coming from the branch. Because it wasn’t a branch at all.

It was a bone.

They waited. They watched. They had the man, but they didn’t kill him. Not yet. First they needed to know if the group had weapons. They were many, but they knew that many were no match for guns.

The man moaned. It made their stomachs rumble.

Still they waited.

Not far away, they heard sounds. The woman and the girl, talking to each other. They sounded frightened.

They would be even more frightened, very soon.

They poked the man, made him moan even loader.

He was the bait. He would bring the woman and the girl closer.

And then they would attack.

And then they would eat.

When Tyrone was a little boy, he wanted to be a cop. But not a cop like the cops in his neighborhood. Everyone hated those cops. They hassled kids, and never came fast enough when they were needed, and everyone called them pigs and 5-0 and they got no respect at all.

Tyrone wanted to be a cop like the cops on TV. He watched a lot of TV, on account he stayed in a lot. The neighborhood where he grew up had a bad element, his moms always said.

“Being poor don’t make people bad,” she would tell him. “But it makes some people desperate.”

He didn’t get to play outside very much, because desperate people might try to hurt him, so TV became his best playmate. His favorites were the cop shows. The cops on those shows, they got respect. They actually helped people, and people liked them, and no one on TV had to live in a house with bars on the windows like Tyrone did so the bad element couldn’t break in and steal his stuff.

When he told his moms he wanted to be a cop, she patted him on the head and gave him a big kiss and said he could be whatever he wanted to be when he grew up, as long as he got out of the neighborhood. And Tyrone promised her he would, and every night, when he said his prayers, he asked God to make him big and strong so he could someday become a cop and take Moms and Grams out of the neighborhood and to someplace really nice, where he got respect, and no one had bars on the windows.