CHAPTER 13

Joe squirmed, trying to shift away from the jabbing in his spine. Coiling his knees nearly to his chest provided a modicum of relief, but in the end he gave up, reluctantly opening his eyes. Surely somewhere in this forest there had to be a patch of earth without roots to sleep on.

"Biff?" Joe stretched and sat up, keeping his voice to a whisper. "Biff? You awake?"

"Hmm? Nah. Wet ground, a million crawly bugs, I'm sleeping like a baby."

"Yeah, that's what I figured." Joe started to rummage through the knapsack he'd been using as a pillow, sorting items out on the damp soil. The pocket knife had already proven valuable; transforming a second canvas bag into a passable imitation of slippers for both of them, and the small butane lighter was bound to come in handy. Biff had the canteens they'd stolen on Joe's second foray into the soldier's camp. No matter how often he restacked the remainder of the purloined goods, one fact remained. The food was gone.

Biff stared at the snippets of ebony sky visible amongst the trees. No sign of dawn yet. "You thinking about making another run?"

Twice now Biff had stood watch while Joe snuck into the camp, and as hungry as he was he didn't relish doing it again. The last trip Joe had nearly been caught, slipping under a collapsed tent to hide when the troop unexpectedly began to strike camp in response to a radio message. Biff hadn't come up with a single way to assist him and the long minutes continued to linger in the back of his head.

"No." Joe stood, popping the bones in his neck with an exaggerated shrug. "Something's up."

Biff scanned the scene again, seeing nothing unique from the last three nights. The soldiers had continued moving inland each day, setting a slow pace through a primordial landscape. Joe had kept his nighttime raids small, and although the militants had appeared to be searching for some of the missing items, none of them seemed suspicious of an acquired tail. Maybe the idea was simply too absurd to consider. "I don't see anything different."

"Me neither." Joe shrugged again before continuing. "More gut feeling, I guess. We have to find Frank. Today."

"Joe, I know you're worried, but we're going to find him. You know that, right?"

"I know." The pause carried on longer than was comfortable, Joe unable to explain an impending sense that if he didn't find Frank this morning, then there'd be no need. "But it has to be today. Sometimes with Frank I can, uh, well… Anyway, has to be today."

Biff was unsure how to approach the desperation creeping into his friend's voice. Joe had been the optimist of the expedition, keeping Biff more upbeat than anyone in their situation had a right to be. The sudden melancholy was unsettling.

Joe shook his head, the gesture useless in the dark. "Biff… I can't explain it to myself, either… but he's out of time." Wait for me, Frank, please…

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Clover… Wonder how… that got here…. Aunt Gertrude will… be mad… Hates… weeds… Frank blinked at the plant before him, temporarily oblivious to implications of being eye level with a four inch sprout. Sadly, even that miniscule movement wreaked enough pain to refocus his world. The predawn light had been more welcome when it was strictly about horticulture.

Sometime long after dark, Rao had cut him from the beam frame, dragging the crumpled form to the foot of the gallows alongside the compound's east wall. He'd lashed Frank's wrists together and then staked them to the ground, leaving him prone to wait out the night.

An hour or so ago, Frank had become vaguely aware of other men dumped along the stone barrier, his mind sporadically participating in his impending execution. Now that the sky bore the first hints of indigo, it wouldn't be long.

He'd given some thought as to what to do when that moment inevitably came. Hold his head high and walk to the noose of his own accord, a dignified approach to the end? Or scrabble every step, the proverbial going kicking and screaming; a taunt to his captors that he refused to submit? Somewhere in the mist of the debate he admitted it was academic, he had the physical capacity for neither. Nothing especially symbolic was about to ensue.

Firecrackers… for Easter… weird… Collig… won't like… that… …likes the… twizzly ones… only come in… gold… wonder why… Frank jolted; aware his brain had wandered again. More of the sky had shaded into blue, the faintest line of violet beneath a broad swath of periwinkle and the indigo. Been listening… to Callie… color… names again… It's just blue… Firecrackers are…still here… gunfire?... Bye, Cal…

Someone hoisted him from the dirt, his bare heels tracing a path in the soil before bumping backwards up the rough split wood of the stairs. The platform at the top stretched twenty feet long but a mere four wide, silver-weathered planks painted with the remnants of sweat and fear. The outer edge of the decking overlapped the top of the fortress wall, affording Frank his first view beyond the compound. Four other men knelt on the wood to Frank's left, a fifth already struggling between a pair of soldier's looping one of the six dangling ropes about his neck.

No nifty… trapdoor… theater has… one in… in… where… in Bayport… school plays…

The gunfire sounded closer, mingling with the approaching thud of boots on the boards. The first twinges of panic among the soldiers went unnoticed as Frank felt a hood slip back over his head.

Huh… wanted to… see… sunrise… breathe…

"Sudah waktunya. Bangun."

Right… guess… time… Mom, Dad… love you… and … Joe… I'm sorry, Joe… good… b-bye…

A round whizzed past him, the distinct whir abruptly ending as the hands supporting Frank suddenly fell away. Frank felt himself falling, a second's awful anticipation waiting for the hemp to catch his throat.

The leaf cushioned forest floor met him instead, Frank unaware he'd toppled off the platform, landing outside the stone barrier. The corpse of his captor further softened the fall. Frank rolled off the unidentified pulp, instinct driving him to claw his fingernails through dirt, seeking the cover of low hanging fronds.

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"Worse how?"

"Just saying, this could be worse." Joe wriggled backwards on his belly and elbows, sliding beneath a mound of rotting jungle muck. His knee squashed something he was reasonably sure was a giant slug and another multi-legged creature wiggled up the hem of his shorts. Terrific…

Biff flinched at another rain of gunfire. "Um, you know they're shooting at us, right?!"

"Technically, they're not. They're shooting at each other; we just happen to have really good seats." Joe flashed a smile he didn't feel. "Besides, they missed."

"Yeah, carve that on my tombstone, will ya?" Biff sighed, smearing some of the half rotten leaves to darken his pale blond hair.

"Deal – but your grandchildren are gonna think it's weird."

The next hours took half a lifetime to pass, shots crossing over their makeshift burrow from at least two groups of combatants, possibly three. Both boys threw out the occasional comment, ignoring the situation as best they could. Slowly the noise moved further away, the shouts fading from their hearing first and then the gunshots. Some numb part of Joe's brain thought it sounded like a dying bag of popcorn. Finally the silences started to lengthen.

"I think they're gone." Joe patted his hand around the dirt, selecting a few pebbles without raising his head. When tossing the fourth one brought no more result than the first, he sat up. "Let's go."

They resumed their trek toward the valley floor, the reason for the silence becoming appallingly clear. Each of them startled slightly at the first body they had to step over. By the fifth they were rummaging through pockets for supplies. Somewhere around twenty they stopped counting.

Joe guessed it was late afternoon when the sense that he'd lost his opportunity to find Frank became overwhelming. If he'd been alone, he would have simply sat down and waited. He couldn't have said for what – the soldiers to come, vultures to find him, whatever. He wasn't alone, though, and the fact that he'd gotten Biff into this kept his feet moving. From the valley, he'd be able to find some sort of way out of this. He had to.

The valley, however, wasn't what he expected. Another tent encampment would have been predictable, or maybe a plain uninhabited meadow with a waterhole for animals. Instead, the curve of a massive stone wall blocked the trail.

Joe halted in the edge of the tree line, regretting the lack of cover in the gap to the structures. While the barrier looked ancient, modern wire encircled the top and bullet holes pock marked the blocks. A few lazy tendrils of smoke rose above the building roofs visible within the enclosure. From the smell of it, there'd been a larger fire earlier.

He signaled Biff with his hand before circling to the right, searching for an entrance or sign of inhabitants. Three-fourths of the way around the fort he stopped cold, Biff bumping into his back with a grunt.

The instant pallor on his friend's face gave Biff a heartbeat's warning before Joe swayed backward into him.

"Frank." Joe closed his eyes, but not before Biff saw the direction of his gaze and turned to look. A lower section of the wall was ahead of them, the gallows atop it untouched by the fire. Four bodies hung from the thick beams, faces hidden from view below dark hoods.

Joe took a deep breath then started forward, quickly finding the open gate and picking up speed once he saw the wooden ladder. He'd nearly forgotten Biff was there until a fist wadded the shirt between his shoulder blades.

"Stop! You don't know that's Frank." Biff struggled for a better grip, feeling the shirt slip. "Don't go up there."

"I… Frank's here. I have to know, I…" Joe made a strange choked sound and tried to lurch loose. "Let me go!"

Biff yanked harder, taking advantage of his size to jerk Joe to the ground. Spinning around, he clamped a hand on both shoulders, waiting until he was sure Joe actually saw him.

"Joe - I've got this one, okay? Stay here and I'll check." Biff would rather have done anything else, but he couldn't let Joe go up there. Not if Frank was on top of that wall, dead. "Joe? Do you even hear me? Joe? I've got this."

Biff waited until he got a single clenched-jaw nod and then climbed the stairs.

The first two bodies obviously weren't Frank, almond colored skin and height not matching his friend, and the fourth was far too pale. The third, however, made him nearly retch. Biff sawed through the rough rope with the pocket knife, lowering the corpse to the wood planks. He'd been sure when he got close enough something about the man's build or the height would be wrong, but it wasn't. He held his breath and peeled back the fabric.

The face was a grotesque combination of wax yellow and dusky blue, a swollen, protruding tongue its main feature. Biff did retch before he could tug the cloth back in place. He made his way back down the ladder, sinking heavily to sit on the ground.

"It's not him, Joe. He's not here."

The grim excursion up to the decking prevented Biff from being what you'd call jubilant, but he still expected a more positive reaction from his friend. What he got was a blank stare.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is." Joe stood, absently walking in a circle, muttering under his breath. "Help me look."

The buildings of the compound were deserted, at least by the living. There was an administrative building of some sort, heavily damaged by flames. Half of it had to go unsearched, the rubble too hot to risk entry. A shorter set of stone walls had fared better as little of the construction there was flammable. Joe had dropped to his knees to peer into a few of the tiny cells set within the walls. Most contained a relatively unscathed corpse, one arm chained against the stunted ceiling, dead from smoke inhalation or stray bullets. A few were empty.

A smaller circular building was also half destroyed, an arc of wide flagstone benches and a pair of wood beams, the point of which Joe couldn't guess, remaining. There were more dead militia scattered about as well, but they found no one alive. The battle they'd heard earlier had evidently come this way.

The eastern half of the fort had fared the best, the wide empty area between the buildings and the wall creating a firebreak. The gallows were there as well as a small shed full of tools. Joe stood in front of the shed, pointing at the ground.

"That's where they went."

That didn't make much sense to Biff. "What?"

"Look at the ground. It's a lot darker in spots, and it's slick if you scuff at it." Joe rubbed his toe over the spots I question. "It's motor oil. Whoever survived here left by vehicle, probably a truck or jeep in this terrain. I only saw one side of this place that would be passable for that."

"And you're thinking truck equals road equals civilization."

"Pretty good summary, yeah." Joe shook his head, trying to decide their next move. "We'll find people eventually if we follow that track, but I don't know if that's good."

"Do you think they took Frank? We don't know for sure that he was ever here…"

Joe interrupted with a shake of his head. "Not was here, is here. I'm sure of it. But if you want to follow the road, I'll understand."

"Joe..." How was Biff supposed to do this? "Everyone here is dead. Sooner or later we will be, too. It's time for us to go back."

"Not without finding Frank. I can't."

Joe leaned against the outer wall, gradually letting his back slide down the rough grit to rest. Biff dropped beside him, the two sitting in silence, wondering how a few days of surfing could have possibly gone so wrong. The sky was shading back into evening, but he could see the first two days here in his head; the bright blue sky and the crystal blue water. Blue like… blue like… like the patch of fabric under the weeds in front of him.

Joe caught his breath in his throat, almost afraid to blink and have it dissolve into a mirage. His eyes traced the swatch of cloth to a bloodied back; a twisted arm flopped behind it like a ragdoll.

He never realized he'd finally moved, his hands independent from the rest of him as he tore the black hood away, fingers tracing a filthy stubbled face before moving down to myriad of bruises and welts covering every inch of the man's skin. His brother's skin.

Frank. Oh dear God… Frank…

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to be continued...