“Looks like you're in a wee bit of a pickle,” jeered the biker.
Linc backed away a few inches on his elbows, trying to look weaker than he felt. Trying to gain some advantage through underestimation. Finding nothing.
“Over here boys! Near the road,” yelled the biker. “Now were gonna have our fun with you.”
Linc sucked more air. The pain in his chest was less important than clearing his spinning head. He had to stay conscious.
The biker twirled his bat and kicked Linc in the side of the knee. He moved it enough to suffer only pain.
“Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you yet. Not until they get here.”
Linc backed toward his protection in the bush. Keeping his gaze on the biker, hoping he'd not seen where it landed.
He fought his ribs and pulled more air into his lungs. His chest burned and his head cleared a little more.
“Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true about not hurting you until they got here,” sneered the biker.
He raised the bat, put his left foot forward and swung the bat towards Linc's left shoulder. Linc twisted his hips and rammed his right knee into the back of the bikers left. He toppled over Linc and crashed beside him. Linc spun again and buried the back of his right elbow into the bikers face. Once. Twice. A broken nose, lots of blood, but still struggling. Three times. Four. The biker lay still, all quiet but for the concussed breath rattling in his throat.
Linc crawled and retrieved his steel box from the bush.
This time there was evidence. Tortured evidence. Skinned alive evidence. Evidence that Linc would not allow this guy to produce again.
He crawled back and kneeled in front of him. He brought the corner of the unit down with all his weight and watched the forehead split like a pumpkin.
"That's the last person you'll hurt, asshole" he wrestled his anger to a low mutter.
“Hano!”
The voices were close. Linc heaved himself to his feet and dragged one foot at a time toward the road and the bikes. His head was still foggy and his knees uncooperative. His chest felt like road kill.
“Hano!”
Closer now. Move faster. They'll be within sight any second.
Linc passed a clump of bushes and put it between himself and the body. Hoped it was thick enough to keep him out of sight. His stagger improved to a walk.
“Hano! Boss! He killed Hano!”
“You run all you like, boy!” Now Shane was hollering. “But when we catch you you'll wish you were never born!”
Linc had some distance between them now. Out of visible range at least.
“What's this?”
“Is that a wallet?” replied Shane.
He could not hear the low conversation that followed. He could see the bikes now. Another quick minute to disable them and he'd be on his way. They'd never catch him now.
“Mr. Lincoln Freemore!” taunted Shane theatrically.
“1053 Roosevelt Street.” His deep voice echoed lightly among the trees.
“That's a mighty good lookin' wife you have there boy!”
“We'll be meeting her real soon!”
Linc's throat clammed shut and the burn in his chest faded like a yesterday's dream. He padded his pockets in vain. Nothing. His wallet was gone.
If he ran now they were dead. Or worse. Much worse. He'd just seen how much worse. Maybe not today. But they would come. They had nothing else to do with their time.
Now he had to finish this.
Damn Harry. And damn Shaz. If she wasn't so distracted by being a petrol head she would have been the one to get the promotion. She was much easier to work with. She could be the one signing off the new power supply and she would never have abandoned him like that.
But now it was two on one. They had knives and god knows what other weapons. He had a steel box and an injury that would keep any fighter out of the ring.
If he fought them together he had no chance.
Linc turned right once again and headed back in. Into the shadows.
“Angie Freemore – what a pretty name,” yelled Shane. “It's a shame we're gonna have to make her all dirty!”
Sounded like they were heading for the bikes.
Linc picked up a solid branch. Picked up his pace. He walked a little freer now. Almost able to run. He swung the branch against a chunky fir. The crack resounded like a jail door slammed.
“Argh!” he called and kept moving.
“Is he injured?” A low voice.
“Let's find out.”
Linc walked faster and the shadows darkened. Muffled conversation followed. He shifted his walk up to an ungainly jog, tuning out his spasming ribs. He loped from step to step, Frankenstinian, in front of the mob. The voices dipped below audible as they fell behind.
He checked limbs and boughs as he passed until he found close enough to what he was looking for. A mature fir with a clean trunk up to about fifteen feet and enough broken stumpy boughs to climb.
He placed his shoe on its side a yard out from the tree and scraped a scuffle on the leafy ground, hoping a shoe diversion would work again. Different people. Maybe.
He removed his belt and with it slung the power supply over his shoulder then began his careful ascent. Sweet, soft smelling sap gummed his fingers as he climbed. The cracks in the bark grew smaller and less pronounced as he made his way up. Coated his hands with dust and bark grit. Grubby and refreshing.
The second branch from the bottom had a clear view below and was hidden from the west by a shroud of emerald needles. Shards of sunlight sprinkled though and caught the LEDs on the front panel; they glowed like whispers of encouragement. Strong enough and dim enough for his eyes alone. Not revealing his position.
Shane and his sidekick would see Linc if they looked straight up from fifteen feet below. The tang of his sweat was strong, but fresh and clean. Not a reason to look up. Shane would never smell him from there. Not with his own vinegary odor. They say you smell like what you eat. Linc tried to imagine what rancid thing was Shane's favorite food.
Linc's timing was nerve wreckingly close. He was still removing his anvil from the sling as leaves and twigs began to rustle and snap below.
“His shoe!” whispered Shane.
Timing would be everything. Linc hung his legs over the side. Slowly. Silently. Without a shake or a rustle.
He had not heard the name of Shane's last lackey and had no intent of it. He aligned the steel box and prepared to follow. His fingers released like a trigger; let it go without interfering with the flight path. With no time to think any further he threw himself after the box and accelerated behind it. He led with his forearms and shins. As good as four baseball bats.
The steel box met the sidekick's skull and skull caved like a boiled egg under a hungry teenager's spoon. Shane stepped, startled. To his right. Linc missed his head. His right shin glanced off Shane's back and Linc met the springy ground at almost full speed. The impact smashed the air from his laboring lungs and threw Shane to the right. Linc rolled left and found his left cheek planted in the sticky red mess of the crushed skull.
He gasped for air as his vision swirled to gray. He rolled right; away from the warmth on his cheek, toward Shane. Get a look. Measure the threat.
He gulped for oxygen and tried to hold back the gray. Focused on the new pain in his chest and ribs. Anything to keep conscious. But all he caught was a boot in the solar plexus. His diaphragm tried. Spasmed. Failed to pump anything into his lungs. Gray melted to black.
A thud rang in the distance. Like a rock thrown at some wall in an underground cavern. A giant black cavern, devoid of light since glacial waters first began to carve it from limestone a million years ago.
Another thud. Louder now. Accompanied by movement. Cavernous midnight flashed to foggy woodland floor and seared Linc's vision. Shane slapped him again. This time spun his head left to right.
“Wakey, wakey sunshine. Time to party.”
Linc
blinked until his sight cleared a little. He searched for details of his surroundings. The clearing. The ancient rotting fir. The fresh smell of lavender, wandering its purple and suede green path around the shadows. The cleansing musk of the disturbed damp earth, mixed with a foulness he'd not known before today. Shane's breath.
A rope around his chest held him against the tree. Forced him to stare at the young man. Probably still in his teens. The previous victim. Forced him to inspect his own fate.
“I can't decide,” said Shane. “Shall I maim you and keep you alive? I can come back and tell you all about the fun I had with your wife and boy? Or shall I tell you what I'm going to do to them over a leisurely torture and let you die slow while and I go off and have my fun?”
“All these choices. It's so exciting!”
Linc's mind jammed again on one thought. “Why did we stop?” It was just an empty car on an empty road. Drive on. Don't look back. Somebody else's problem. Fuck it. There wasn't even a problem. Not as far as he would have know. He'd be at the park. A picnic. Worrying about what shirt to wear tomorrow. Or some other bullshit.
But now his wrists were tied. Wrapped tight by a piece of nylon. His arms stretched behind him. Connected around the back of this sticky old fir by a length of rope. His grotesque fate sealed by a cheap off-cut. In this place he so longed to be. The last place he would know.
“And what about this box?” asked Shane, lifting the power supply unit.
“It's clearly an effective weapon. You've already proven that. Should I beat you slowly with it or stick to my favorite knife? So many possibilities – it’s like opening Christmas