I saw something in Mr. Martin’s expression I’d never seen before. He looked defeated.
“All right,” he said. “Can I at least dress for the weather?”
21
I figured that four kids with shovels was enough to guard Mr. Martin while he put on his winter clothing, so I let Tina take me into the bathroom to clean up the blood and apply some bandages.
“You’re going to need stitches,” she informed me.
“Sorry, you know I love you but I’m not letting you stitch me up,” I said.
Had I actually said, “I love you?” Jesus Christ. The timing was awful and I’d said it in a way that would have her wondering if I was being sarcastic. Our focus should be on Mr. Martin, not emotional confusion. Having a bottle shattered over my head was apparently not good for my brain function.
Tina ran some water in the sink. Apparently her reaction was going to be “ignore the comment.” I approved of this reaction.
She held a washcloth under the tap and used it to wipe the blood off my face. She had to rinse it about six times before she declared it “good enough.” I could see out of both eyes now, at least.
“You should’ve been wearing your hat,” she said.
“It itches.”
“So get one that doesn’t itch.”
“I will.”
She applied what seemed to be a dozen bandages to my face. “You’re swelling up pretty bad. When we get outside you should break off an icicle or something and hold it on there.”
“Let me see,” I said, reaching for the medicine cabinet door.
Tina closed the cabinet. “No. It’s grotesque. It’ll upset you.”
“Now my imagination will make it worse.”
“You’re not horribly disfigured,” she assured me. “You just look like somebody beat you up. For a few hours.”
“Thanks for saving me,” I said.
“Mick told us everything was fine, and we all kind of decided that we should go over and wait outside the house in case things stopped being fine. Good thing you guys were making a lot of noise.”
“Yeah, I tried to make sure my bones broke as loudly as possible.”
“You don’t have any broken bones.”
“I’m surprised.”
“I don’t know what to do about the top of your head,” said Tina. “I can’t really stick bandages to it because of your hair. I think I just need to stick a bunch of gauze on it as best that I can, and then you’ll have to wear the itchy hat.”
A minute later we walked out of the bathroom. Mr. Martin was dressed in a parka (that Ed had thoroughly searched) and snow pants. His look of defeat was gone. Now he looked like, given the opportunity, he would try to murder me with his teeth.
“It’s time to go,” I announced.
There were only two licensed drivers among us, and we didn’t think it would be a good idea for Mr. Martin to drive, even if we had a knife pressed against his side. We decided that Mick would drive Mr. Martin’s car, with Tina riding in the front seat. I’d sit in the back, next to Mr. Martin with his wrists and feet tied together.
Ed had his learner’s permit, so he was going to drive Mick’s car, with Burt and Josh as passengers, and hope that he didn’t get pulled over for any reason. Of course, we’d have a tied-up guy with us, so we didn’t want to get pulled over, either. We’d obey all traffic laws.
“Don’t go into the ditch,” Mick told Ed.
“I won’t.”
“People go into the ditch all the time. Don’t be one of them.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t hit a moose.”
“I won’t. Shut the fuck up.”
We led Mr. Martin into the garage, then Burt, who claimed to be the best at knots, tied up his hands and feet. We got him into the back seat and shut the door. Ed, Burt, and Josh headed back to Mick’s car.
I went around and got into the back seat. I showed Mr. Martin my knife. “Don’t make me slam this into your leg.”
He turned away from me and didn’t say anything.
Mick got in the car and started the engine. Tina pressed the button to raise the garage door. After Mick backed the vehicle out, she pressed the button again to close it, then climbed into the front seat and fastened her seat belt.
We pulled up alongside the car with Ed and his friends.
“Tell us where to go,” I told Mr. Martin.
“Go straight,” he muttered.
We drove off, with Ed following closely behind.
Mr. Martin gave us directions one turn at a time, but otherwise said nothing. No taunting, no threats, no pleading…he just sat there. I kept my guard up the entire time. If I lost focus for a second, that could be enough. I doubted there was anything he could do to me with his hands and feet tied together, but thinking, “Oh, I’m perfectly safe!” would surely lead to disaster.
We drove for about forty-five minutes, mostly on Chena Hot Springs Road, a long paved road with woods on each side that led us out of Fairbanks. I was sitting sideways, facing Mr. Martin, so I could see the headlights behind us in my peripheral vision. I kept waiting for Ed to careen off the road, in which case we’d have to go with Plan B, which involved squeezing the other three kids into Mr. Martin’s car. Plan B would suck.
“Slow down,” said Mr. Martin. “We should be coming up on the next turn. I’m not positive.”
“Ptarmigan Pass?” asked Mick.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Mick slowed way down, then turned left onto a dirt road. It had been plowed recently but there was a layer of new snow that hopefully wouldn’t cause problems for Ed.
A moment later, Ed fishtailed and went off the road.
Mick stopped and cursed.
This would have been a perfect time for Mr. Martin to use our distraction to his advantage, so I refused to stare out the back windshield. Tina opened her door and got out. She hurried back to investigate, then quickly returned.
“They’re completely off the
