Nine years ago
Joe sat on the ground near the fire, scowling as he tried yet again to toast a marshmallow without it catching fire and falling into the flames. Frank didn't appear to be having any difficulties, and was already on his fourth s'more. Joe had yet to eat one.
Hands appeared on Joe's waist. The boy felt himself being lifted up and settled down again further from the fire. Joe looked up and found himself sitting on his father's lap.
Fenton was smiling as he took the stick from Joe's hands. "You look like you cold use a hand. Watch me."
Joe's brilliant blue eyes studied Fenton's movements carefully as the detective skewered two marshmallows. Taking Joe's hands, he helped his son hold the marshmallows higher above the fire than where Joe had been putting them. Just as they caught fire, Fenton pulled them out and quickly extinguished the flames.
"I think you'll find your marshmallows taste the best right when they catch fire," Fenton remarked as he used the graham crackers to pull the marshmallows off the stick. He added the chocolate bar, then handed one of the s'mores to Joe.
Joe eagerly bit into the treat. "Mmm! Thanks, Dad! These are great!"
Fenton chuckled. As soon as they finished their s'mores, Fenton helped Joe toast more marshmallows.
Night fell quickly, and soon the woods surrounding their camp were filled with the noises of the wildlife. Frank scooted closer to his father and stared into the fire, full from s'mores.
Joe set his stick aside and leaned back into Fenton's chest, contented. "Can you tell us a story, Dad?"
Fenton hugged Joe with his right arm and wrapped his left around Frank, drawing his elder son closer. "What would you like to hear?"
"A ghost story!" Joe cried.
"No!" Frank countered. "A funny story!"
"I know!" Joe exclaimed. "Tell us about one of your cases!"
"Yeah!" Frank agreed.
"Okay," Fenton said. "How about the case where I . . . found Mom's missing car keys?"
"No!" the boys cried out, laughing.
"The case when I . . . traveled to the store for milk?"
"No!"
Twigs snapping behind them caused Fenton to leap to his feet and whirl around, pushing his sons behind him protectively.
A tall, burly man emerged from the woods near their tent, clad in orange coveralls that were torn and filthy. He had shoulder-length brown hair and dull blue eyes. In his hand was a revolver, and it was pointed right at Fenton Hardy.
"How about the case where you busted me and sent me upstate for a bum rap?" the man demanded.
"Alan Dean!" Fenton barked. "You're supposed to be locked up! How did you get out?"
"Piece o' cake," Dean boasted. "Fake sick, they gotta send ya to the hospital. It's easy to bust outta medical transport."
Fenton's jaw hardened. "What happened to the medics and guard?"
Dean grinned. The evil smile sent chills down Fenton's spine. "Nothin' elaborate. They won't be makin' any more transports, though."
Behind Fenton, Joe clutched at Frank. Frank held onto his younger brother and waited for some kind of clue from their father.
"You'll get caught," Fenton averred. "They caught you once. They can do it again."
Dean shrugged. "Maybe so, but by then it'll be too late for you and your boys." He cocked the hammer back. "Say goodnight, Hardy."
Fenton swung his hand out and knocked the gun aside as it went off. He lunged at Dean, grappling with the convict for control of the weapon.
"Frank, take Joe and run!" Fenton ordered.
Frank grabbed Joe's hand and pulled his brother into the woods. The two boys never looked back as they crashed through the undergrowth. Branches and shrubs whipped against them, tugging at their clothes and scratching their faces.
Joe's foot caught on a root, and he stumbled. Frank anxiously tugged him to his feet.
"Come on, Joe!" he cried shrilly. "Dad said we have to run! Hurry!"
"But what about Dad?" Joe protested. "We gotta help him!"
"Dad'll be okay," Frank assured him. He wished he could believe his own words, but he was also worried. The only thing keeping him from going back to camp to help was Joe. Frank knew that, as the older brother, it was his responsibility to ensure Joe's safety. Their father was counting on him; he couldn't let Fenton down.
The sound of a single gunshot reverberated throughout the forest, causing both boys to jerk in surprise. Frank's eyes became wide, and Joe looked as if he was about to be sick.
"Dad," Frank whispered.
Fenton Hardy froze at the sound of the gunshot and raised his hands. He had managed to knock the gun away from Dean's hands and had started to run after his sons when the shot pulled him up short.
"All right, Dean," he said soothingly. "You've got me. Do what you have to do, but please leave my boys out of this."
Dean lowered his gun from the sky and pointed it at Fenton's back. "Oh, no, Hardy. That won't do. See, you sent me to prison, fine. But my little brother wasn't prison material. He never shoulda gone."
"He was involved," Fenton tried to reason with Dean. "He had to do some time. I had no choice-."
"My brother died there!" Dean shouted in fury. "You son of a bitch! He's dead, and it's all your fault!"
Hardy felt his stomach drop. His odds of talking Dean out of the gun had just worsened. Still, for his sons' sakes, he had to try. "I am sorry about your brother, Alan, really. But my boys shouldn't be punished. They don't know-."
"But they will," Dean cut him off, suddenly calm. "I won't kill you just yet. I'm gonna go get your boys, and I'm gonna give you the opportunity to feel how I do."
"They're just boys!" Fenton protested.
Dean brought the revolver down on Fenton's head, sending the detective into oblivion. He quickly secured the unconscious man with some packing twine he found with the camping supplies, then stole into the forest in search of his prey.
Frank pushed Joe up into a tree, then scrambled up after him. Once they reached a high branch, they stopped. Joe nestled under Frank's arm, shivering from the cool night air and from the shock of the gunshot. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd heard it, and that worried Frank.
"Hey, Joe, it'll be okay," Frank whispered. "I bet Dad's fine. He prob'ly took care of that guy and is lookin' for us right now."
Joe didn't respond. Frank sighed and hugged him closer.
They weren't sure how much time had passed when the sounds of rustling reached their ears. Frank's heart leaped in his chest, eyes scanning the foliage in anticipation. Joe only clutched at Frank and buried his face in his brother's shirt.
A flash of orange appeared before Frank could see a face. His heart sank in horror. If the bad guy was here, then their father . . .
Joe's trembling pulled Frank sharply into focus. He would worry about that later. First, he had to get Joe out of the woods and find help.
"Hey, kids!" Dean called out. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. I just want to take you back to your daddy. He's worried about you two."
Frank held his breath; was their father still alive?
Dean paused beneath their tree, eyes scanning the undergrowth. "I know you're still here. Come on out and I'll take you to him."
The escaped convict paused several moments longer, then traipsed deeper into the woods. As soon as Frank was sure he had gone, he sat up and nudged Joe.
"C'mon," Frank whispered, starting to climb down. "While he's looking for us, we can go back and help Dad."
A renewed sense of purpose seemed to bring life back into the younger boy as he scrambled down after his brother. As he reached the ground, Frank was already determining the best path to take.
"Aha! Gotcha!"
Dean dove through the shrubs and seized Frank's arm in a tight grip. The boy cried out in shock and tried to break free. He savagely kicked Dean in the shin, but Dean held on.
"Run, Joe!" Frank shouted. "Get out of here!"
Dean made a wild grab for Joe, but the seven-year-old was already gone.
"Dammit!" the man swore. "Oh well. Doesn't matter. One brat's plenty. Come on!"
Frank struggled as he was half-pushed, half-dragged back to their campsite. As they broke through the clearing, Frank could see his father struggling to sit up.
"Dad!" he cried.
Fenton paled when he saw his son. "Frank, are you okay?"
"Shut up!" Dean shoved Frank down onto the ground and aimed his gun at the boy. "I've waited for this moment for a long time. Say goodbye, Fenton."
"No!" Fenton bellowed.
A sudden crashing through the woods distracted Dean. Joe Hardy barreled into view, throwing rocks at Dean.
"Leave my family alone!" he shouted.
One rock connected with the side of Dean's head, drawing blood. Dean's hand flew to his head as he roared with anger.
"Come here, you little bastard!" he snarled, chasing after Joe.
"Frank, quick, untie me!" Fenton ordered. He could only watch with wide, fearful eyes as Dean chased Joe around the campsite, dodging rocks.
Remembering the gun he still carried in his hand, Dean paused and took aim. He squeezed off a couple shots, one bullet grazing Joe's leg. Joe cried out in pain and dropped to the ground, clutching at his wound. Dean approached with a triumphant grin, leveling the gun at Joe's head.
"I guess you're first," he stated. "Suits me just fine."
Fenton suddenly appeared at Dean's side, forcing the gun up as the bullet flew harmlessly into the sky. With surprise on his side, Fenton managed to rip the gun from Dean's hands, then use it to fiercely strike the convict across the face. Dean was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Despite his overwhelming desire to gather his children to him, Fenton knew he had to restrain Dean. Quickly binding him tightly with the same twine that had held him, he went to Joe's side and scooped him up into a hug.
Joe clutched at his father, his body wracked with heavy sobs. Fenton tightened his hug around Joe as he crossed the campsite to where Frank still sat, motionless in his shock. Sitting down, he drew Frank into an embrace.
"It's okay, boys, it's all right," he soothed. "It's all over."
Shifting Joe's weight onto his lap, Fenton examined the wound in Joe's leg. Fortunately, the bullet had only left behind a deep gouge in its wake. It would probably need stitches, and would undoubtedly leave a scar, but it could have been much worse.
"Boys, we're going to have to cut our camping trip a little short," he said. "Frank, can you throw our things into the tent? We'll come back for them later. Right now, I want to turn Dean over to the police and get Joe to the hospital."
Frank nodded and scurried about, carrying out his orders. Fenton carried Joe to the car and fastened him into the front seat. After checking to see how Frank was doing, Fenton manhandled Dean into the trunk. By the time the trunk was shut securely, Frank was already in the car and buckled. With a final check over his boys, Fenton turned the car on and drove away from the campsite.
