Twins of Prey (13 page)

Feeling his head lift again, this time by his hair being pulled up from behind, a tactical knife was placed at his throat. With the water line above his mouth, he continued to struggle breathing with his nostrils hovering in and out of the river. Looking down, he could see the sliver metal shine of the knife blade through the refracted water. If seeing the blade was not enough for him to realize he was about to be done in, feeling the cold metal pressed against his voice box was enough insurance for him to take his last breath in this world.

“I am alive, but I am ready to die. Do it!”

Drake urged the attacker to take his life and tried to assist by pushing his head downward onto the knife with all the force he could muster. Feeling the blade cutting into his skin, he closed his eyes and thought of Uncle.

Drake had always thought of Uncle’s suicide as a cowardly act. Until this very moment when Drake knew his death was upon him, he realized that it is a not a coward that takes control of his own destiny. Rather it took bravery to face death, look him eye-to-eye and then accept it him as if greeting an old friend. Drake was not sure if he truly believed in this, or if it was his way of trying to convince himself that he was about to experience an honorable death.

“Kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me,” He repeated over and over, willing the capturer to slice his throat.

Upon receiving an answer, if hearing the voice above him was not surprise enough, the words they spoke certainly were.

into the river where he rolled over, sat up and stared at her in silence.

A
s the tree-covered door to the underground cabin opened again, Tomek paid no attention, rolling over in his cot and pulling the covers up over his head. Still somewhat talking in his sleep about finding the woman he still had no idea that was his own sister. The door left open on purpose was letting in both the cold air and light, both of which thoroughly annoyed Tomek enough for him to sit up in his cot, rub his eyes and yell at his brother sitting at the table in the kitchen area.

“Close the freaking door, you ass!” Tomek said, lying back down and rolling over. No answer came from the kitchen area and the door remained open.

Sitting back up, Tomek turned to again yell at his brother. Only it was not his brother at the table. The sheriff had invaded the cabin and stood there, gun drawn and looking at Tomek with a shit-eating grin. The next seconds went by in Tomek’s mind as if they were days as he thought to himself,

“
Is this the end? How did he find us? Where is Drake?
” all of which joined with many other racing thoughts into one large pile of confusion.

“Good morning, sunshine,” the sheriff said.

Tomek did not answer, only looking at his captor with a burning fury in his eyes. How could he, how could
they
have gotten trapped not only by Magee but now by the sheriff? Uncle had taught them better than this and now the only place they knew to be safe was compromised. Tomek sat in his cot inside the very cabin that for all these years had protected him. The cabin had been safe from bears, wolves, storms and even humans until this point. Now his safe zone had become his prison.

“I know you can talk, son,” the sheriff said. “Better say something or I am going to have to make ya talk the hard way.”

“I am not your fucking son.”

“That’s more like it. Now where is that little look-alike spook brother of yours? You know, the one that likes to sneak around fires and kill dogs.”

Again, Tomek did not answer the sheriff but the question did bring some ease to heart. He now knew that unless the invader was trying to trick him, Drake had not been taken or killed.

“He is dead,” Tomek said with a pain his voice trying to cover the lie.

“One of your piece of shit buddies gunned him down from far off like he was nothing but an animal.”

Tomek had decided if he was about to die at the hands of the sheriff, it was better for the sheriff to think that Drake was dead as well.

“An animal, huh? Look at you boys, running in the woods, living in a hole under the ground. That is exactly what you maggots are: Stinky, dirty, dark-skinned... animals.”

Tomek, not realizing the full extent to which he was being insulted, looked into the eyes of his enemy and said,

“Go ahead and kill me like an animal, then. Sneak up on me in my sleep and take me out. It is better than dying like my brother did from a far-off cowardly shot.”

“Ahh, good ol’ boy Magee got ‘em with the trusty rifle, eh?” the sheriff said. “Well, as much as I do like your version of the story there, junior, it is just not true. See, I done watched you two cross the river together last night after tracking down the sound of that rifle letting one loose.”

The sheriff calling Tomek’s bluff was not at all what he wanted to hear. The sheriff knowing Drake was alive took away the only strategy Tomek had at protecting his brother from the grave.

The sheriff strolled casually around the small cabin, keeping Tomek at gunpoint while he continued his diatribe regaling the events of last night from his point of view. “That river is mighty cold this time of the year and I’ll admit it was funny as hell seeing you both in it. Now because you two little freaks look damn near the same, I don’t know who knocked who in, but either way, yeah, it was funny.”

“Whatever...” Tomek answered.

“I see how it is. You’re just like any other little punk kid we deal with. You can take the punk out of Pine Run but you can’t take the Pine Run out of the punk,” the sheriff said.

“I have never even been to Pine Run, so there goes that theory,” Tomek boasted, as he clearly did not get the sentiment of the lawman’s point.

“I’ll have to call your bluff once more there, son,” the sheriff said, reaching down the front of his shirt and pulling out the arrowhead that was found buried in the shoulder of the elk that caused his accident all those years ago. The sheriff had wrapped the head in a leather strand and wore it is a necklace for years as a reminder of that fateful day.

“I am not your damn son,” Tomek scolded again.

Upon seeing the hand-chipped flint stone arrowhead necklace that the sheriff was now dangling in front of him, Tomek immediately knew it was made by Uncle.

“
Did the man now holding him at gunpoint know Uncle
?” Tomek wondered.

Silently, the minutes continued to pass as Tomek just sat in the cot listening to the gentle flow of the river splashing against the rock-sided bank. The sheriff quietly wandered about the small room, tearing apart the cabin’s nooks and crannies as if he was looking for something.

“What y’all got to eat around this place?” the sheriff asked as he walked toward the kitchen area’s cupboards. Looking back at Tomek, he shrugged his shoulders and opened his palms in a gesture that demanded an answer.

“Well, boy, I ain’t talking to myself,” he said.

Tomek again did not answer verbally; he just nodded in an upward fashion toward the cupboards where the supplies and rations were kept. Being that it was spring, their winter meat rations were just about gone and most of what remained were the canned vegetables from last year’s crops. Grabbing a sealed glass jar from the front of the shelf, the sheriff held it up to the light now coming in through the sky vent.

“Pickles huh?”

“Yup,” Tomek answered.

“Dill, or sweet?”

“Dill, picked right from our own garden,” Tomek said in an attempt to make the snack sound more enticing, full well knowing the particular jar that was now opened on the table contained the deadly combo poison of death angel mushrooms and nightshade berries. The rule of
After 5, Stay Alive
might just save him by taking out the sheriff without even a hint of a struggle.

Picking the jar back up and holding it his nose the sheriff smelled the contents with a long drawn in breath through his nostrils. Smiling, he dipped his fingers down in to the jar, grabbing a pickle and removing it almost all the way from the jar where he bumped it on the sides of glass to knock off the excess drips of juice.

“Sure hope they are still crunchy,” the sheriff said as he held it up to his lips. Opening his mouth, Tomek watched with anticipation of what would happen next. Opening his mouth, the sheriff placed the pickle in his teeth and began to bite down. While looking at Tomek, however, he sensed something was strange in the boy’s behavior. Removing the still-intact pickle from his teeth, he flipped it over to Tomek, where it landed in his lap.

“How rude of me. I should have offered you a last meal,” the sheriff said.

“You are not going to kill me, just the way Ravizza couldn’t kill me.” Tomek answered.

Looking at Tomek, the sheriff plucked another pickle from the jar and placed it in his mouth, holding it in his teeth as if it was a cigar. Little did he know how deadly of a cigar it would be if just one bite was taken.

“So you met Ravizza, huh? As good with the stars as he is, I am sure he is back in Pine Run by now. Warm and waiting for us to all return laughing about that damn cougar.”

“Nope,” Tomek said with a sinister smile.

“He is over in the pines, just west of the orchard near the river’s edge.”

“So he set up some sort of a camp, huh? Well, he is an adventuresome guy,” the sheriff said.

“Nope,” again Tomek said, smiling. “Well, maybe he is camping. If lying on a bed of pine needles naked with a hatchet buried into your skull being fed upon by the buzzards and coyotes is considered camping, then yeah, he is camping.”

The sheriff knew by Tomek’s confident tone that this time there was no bluff. The pickle dropped from his clenched teeth as he raised his gun up at Tomek. “You black devil son of a bitch, you can’t just kill people and expect to go on about your ways. These people have lives,”

“Had lives,” Tomek interrupted.

“These people have families,” the sheriff continued.

“Had families,” Tomek again corrected, this time standing up and inching toward the sheriff slowly. “Ravizza is dead just like the wolf he brought with him and that big troll-like fool is dead, as well. My brother had no problem killing your good ol’ boy Magee and your little black bitch is dead, as well. In fact you, sheriff, you are the only one left, so kill me now, but know he will find you.”

Tomek continued, still inching closer and closer as he continued to bravely berate the person holding him captive at gunpoint.

“My brother will avenge me, my brother will hunt you, my brother will hurt you, my brother will kill everything precious to you. First, your wife, your life, your blood and then, and only then, once your life has been ruined, it will be taken.”

Now standing just on the other side of the table, Tomek picked up the pickle jar, shaking it at the sheriff with each point he made, spilling its contents about the table and room.

“Uncle taught us in order to win a war, you must make the citizen feel as if his government cannot protect him anymore. You, sheriff, may kill me, but you have lost this war as you can no longer protect the few who look to you for help. Your men are dead, your woman is dead and your wolf is dead. Soon you will join them.”

“Ya done yet?” the sheriff asked, shrugging off Tomek’s threats of retribution. The fact that he was seemingly unaffected by Tomek’s words enraged Tomek. How could a man who has or soon will have lost it all not care? It was at this point that Tomek decided to go on the offensive. His original plan of dying easily at the hands of the sheriff to go on as a martyr for Drake was no longer an option for two reasons. First, if the sheriff wanted to kill him, he would have already. The sheriff must have wanted to take him back to Pine Run in custody as some kind of a human trophy. The second reason, simply put, is that it was not within his personality or training to lie down and die.

With the decision made to fight, Tomek threw the glass jar forward, launching the remaining pickle juice into the face of the sheriff and kicked the edge of the table top pushing it forcefully back into the thighs of his enemy. The juice to the face was enough to distract the sheriff, allowing the impact of the table to slam into him before he was able to brace for it. Falling flat, face-first and hunched over the table which had him now pinned against the back wall of the sink area, the sheriff lifted his head up as he raised his gun, aiming for Tomek. The shot rattled both Tomek and the sheriff’s eardrums as the sound of the blast echoed harshly inside against the small cabin walls.

Missing his intended target from mere yards away, the round had sailed over the head of Tomek as he slid on his side much in the manner he would have if he ever needed to enter the pine slider. The sheriff fired again down into the table trying to hit Tomek as he was underneath it, but to no avail. Sliding from the front of the table underneath to the back, Tomek popped up with the razor-sharp, stone-tipped knife only he knew that was stored beneath the edge of the table.

Now with Tomek standing behind the sheriff’s right hip the sheriff turned his head in time to dodge the knife strike that was intended for the throat. Tomek’s attack was not a total failure as the knife’s jagged blade sliced its way right through both cheeks and opened the sheriff’s face up as if it was the belly of a deer. With his movement still restricted by the heavy table, he turned to face Tomek. The facial wound only skin-deep allowed the sheriff to briefly ignore the gushing blood that was rushing down his throat from what were the corners of his mouth and cheeks, which now flapped loose and hung down his jawline exposing his bottom teeth.

Coughing up blood, the sheriff attempted to raise his gun, but stumbled forward, dizzily bracing himself with his gun hand against the table. The knife’s impact was so smooth it was not even felt in his hand. Tomek had buried the blade deep into the top of the table, going straight through the sheriff’s hand, causing the gun to be released. This final blow was enough to send the heavily bleeding man into shock and he again slumped forward atop the table, unconscious.