Luke, alone, stretched his legs out as far as he could. You may be called upon to fight, Dad had said. The time was now. He had to think of something.
The car stopped and Luke opened his eyes in the dark.
He heard Eric’s soft whisper near the trunk. ‘Filling the tank up. No noise from you or I’ll kill the clerk inside.’
Luke pressed a fist against the door.
‘The funny thing is… shooting that man was much harder in my mind. I’d built it up as this terrible thing but after the first squeeze of the trigger my mind turned off a little bit and it wasn’t too bad.’ He sounded almost surprised.
I have to stop you, Luke thought. I can’t let you hurt another person. The pump clicked as Eric settled it back into its slot.
Luke groped in the darkness. He needed a weapon. He felt a circular shape – a set of jumper cables. He groped past the cables and his fingers closed on a pile of plastic boxes. Old cassette tapes. Nothing beneath. He kept searching, turning over to face the front of the trunk. He felt the rim of the spare tire. There were tools to change it, but they lay under the tire, and he couldn’t get to them with the trunk closed.
He reached out and touched the coil of the jumper cables again. Heavy plastic, like a thick braided rope, with the copper clamps on the end.
As the car started and pulled away from the station, Luke began to uncurl the coil.
6
Luke lost the sense of time. He kept the jumper cables close to him and he thought, long and hard, about what he would do when Eric – the murderer – opened the trunk.
Finally the car stopped.
Luke tensed. He pulled the cables close to him. He practiced what he was going to do, best as he could given the tight quarters. It was insane to try but to not try was worse.
He heard a voice close to the trunk. ‘Luke? You awake?’
As if he could sleep. ‘I’m awake.’
‘I’m going to open the trunk now. You will get out and you will do exactly as you’re told.’
The trunk opened. The dark night had become gloomier, gray clouds obscuring the stars. In the distance thunder rumbled. He could see the shadow of Eric standing centered at the trunk’s opening. The arm, cocked, holding the gun, aimed toward him.
Luke snared the cable over Eric’s arm, one neat quick motion, and yanked down, pulling Eric toward the trunk. Then he kicked out hard, caught Eric in the chest.
‘Dumbass!’ Eric roared. Now Luke yanked Eric toward him, keeping him off balance, trying to scramble out of the trunk. The pistol, bound in the cables, was caught between the two of them.
Eric fired.
Heat. Burning. Luke heard the thump of bullets ripping into the trunk’s body. He kicked out again, suddenly afraid of a bullet smashing into the now full gas tank. The two men hit the ground, scrambling for the loose gun. Eric twisted his hands free of the cables. Luke tackled him, drove knees into Eric’s back as he lunged toward the weapon. The gun lay close to his reach, lying now on the grass, lit only by moonlight peering through the clouds. Grass and dirt clogged Luke’s teeth as Eric pushed him off.
Luke’s fingers closed around the barrel and then the heavy rope of the jumper cables looped around his throat.
The cables tightened into the flesh of his neck like a noose. Eric’s knee ground hard into his spine. Luke struggled to turn, to better the grip on the gun and aim the gun at Eric but he couldn’t move.
Eric began to strangle him. The pain – from the pressure, from the lack of air – burst in Luke’s throat. ‘Let the gun go, Luke,’ Eric hissed in his ear. ‘Let it go.’
If he let go he would die. If he didn’t let go he would die. He couldn’t turn the gun around to aim it at Eric; he didn’t have the leverage or the grip on the trigger. He released the gun, spreading fingers, feeling the cool of the grass instead of the heat of the steel.
The noose didn’t loosen, but Eric yanked him several yards away from the gun, dragging into the dirt and grass, then pounded him with a brutal kick to the back of the head.
Darkness, pain. Luke lay stunned, gasping, the ache in his head bright as fire. Blood oozed on his ear, on his jaw. The gun barrel nestled against his hair.
‘You’re not going to screw me over!’ Spittle hit the back of Luke’s neck.
Luke, hardly able to speak past the pain in his throat, nodded, face-down in the grass.
Eric yanked him to his feet and shoved him toward a dirt road that cut through the grass. Loblolly pines rose in thin majesty around him and the air smelled of wet earth and gathering storm. In the distance, thunder sounded, clouds clearing their throats.
Luke and Eric moved down the road and suddenly a light flickered on, high and bright. Luke blinked at the harsh brightness. He could see a chained gate cutting across the road. A light above the gate glowed. No person stood on the other side of the gate; the light must be keyed to a sensor.
Eric shoved Luke against the gate. It was secured with chains and the links clattered as Luke stumbled against it.
‘Turn around.’
Luke did and Eric held up a cell phone.
‘Smile.’
Luke didn’t.
‘I want that bitch to see you’re being delivered in good condition. Smile.’
Delivered. Luke bit his lip, then smiled.
‘Good.’ Eric fiddled with the smartphone. He clicked buttons, kept his gaze flickering between the keypad and Luke. Luke guessed the pine forest had been cleared of a width about forty feet for the scrabble of road. Eric could gun him down before he reached the woods.
Eric put the phone up to his face. ‘I just sent you a photo of Luke Dantry. Where is she?’
Eric listened, said, ‘You better not be lying.’ He clicked off the phone.
‘You called the British woman,’ Luke said.
Eric didn’t answer. He powered a bullet into the chain’s lock. It shattered in the quiet, sent birds flocking up from the pines. Eric unwound the chains, creaked the gate open. He produced a small flashlight from his pocket and waved Luke forward with it.
Luke shambled along, gravel kicking under his shoes. The road looked like it had been built for quiet murder. The only noise was his footsteps, the hiss of the wind, and a low song of owls. The dark smelled dank and the circle of flashlight danced at his feet. A soft rain began to fall.
‘Who’d you send my photo to?’ he asked. First the dead man in Houston, now him. ‘Who am I being delivered to?’ He risked a thrust. ‘Is it Jane?’
Eric stared at him, shook his head. ‘You are done talking, period. You don’t say a word. I don’t need you making things worse for me.’ Like Eric was the victim, more than Luke or the dead homeless guy.
The road split and Eric said, ‘Turn left. And hurry up. Hurry.’ He prodded Luke in the shoulder blades with the gun. Ahead he saw a soft glow of light.
Luke stumbled forward, Eric urging him into a loping run.
Suddenly the trees on each side opened up and a small cabin stood in the clearing of the pines. A thin light shone from a small window near the front door.
Eric stopped him as they reached the door. Eric kicked over a flowerpot filled with dead remnants of rosemary. In the puddle of the light Luke saw two keys. One large, like a house key. The other was smaller, similar to the kind to undo a luggage lock.
‘Open the door,’ Eric ordered.
Luke slid the key into the lock, eased the door open.
