Page 39 of The Fix

Cyrus crashed through the forest, running as if his life depended on it, because it did.

Adrenaline spurred him forward, even though his lungs ached and his legs burned.

He’d made it out of that room. He could hardly believe his plan had gone so perfectly, just the way he’d pictured it in his head over and over again, adjusting each movement as he considered and reconsidered the nose picker’s responses.

The cabin hadn’t even been locked. He’d thrown the door open and raced out into the trees.

He couldn’t wait to tell Mr. Abdullah about this.

If he got the chance.

Because first, he needed to find his way out of this forest and get to the police.

He ducked behind a tree and plastered his spine to it as he listened.

He was sure the nose picker would be after him soon.

If he could have, he’d have locked him in that room, but he hadn’t been able to figure out a way he could successfully attack him without his body going down right in front of the door.

And he didn’t have the time or the strength to move him.

And so, he’d decided the best plan was simply to run.

Cyrus froze as he heard the distant noise of what he thought might be a door crashing open, and then the sound of the man yelling his name. “Fuck,” Cyrus whispered.

He started moving again, this time with less speed and more purpose. The rush of water was louder out here, and he thought it sounded like a waterfall. He moved away from the roar, scared of accidentally falling into a river that would then sweep him over the falls.

Other than away from the waterfall, there was no clear direction to go, and so Cyrus simply ran through the trees and over the fallen logs and small rocks, a carpet of pine needles cushioning his steps.

His heart was beating so fast, and as the forest grew dimmer and denser, the sense of victory turned to fear.

He was trying to escape as quietly as he could, but still he heard the man lumbering after him, calling his name angrily. He hears me. It was difficult to be quiet, though, and run as fast as he needed to create distance.

Cyrus stopped, intent on heading away. If he could just stay far enough ahead, maybe he’d come upon a hiding place. But it sounded like the man’s footsteps were coming from every direction, his voice echoey, and so Cyrus stood there, breathing hard, frozen with indecision.

Move!

Cyrus rounded a tree and crept forward, much more slowly now, listening before every step, terrified the man was going to jump out and attack him. Maybe he got ahead somehow. Maybe he knew a shortcut.

He saw a tree shake up ahead as though someone was right behind it, and he turned, ducking down behind a rock and holding his hands over his mouth so as to muffle his quickened breaths.

He heard more rustling from that direction, and now the man had stopped calling his name.

He was close, though. Cyrus knew he was.

Move!

Cyrus stood and bolted from behind the rock, looking over his shoulder as he sprinted forward, rounding a tree and skidding to the very edge of a basin, tiny rocks flying into empty air, bouncing off ledges and then plunging to the jagged rocks far below.

He yelled, hurling himself back and landing on his butt on the dirt.

His heart pounded as he turned his head one way and then the other, surveilling the landscape and trying desperately to figure out which way to go.

His muscles locked with indecision, air wheezing from his lungs.

He’d run right into an area of sharp drops, and it seemed that the only way out was to reverse course.

But then he ran right into the nose picker.

Cyrus clamored to his feet just as the man busted through the trees.

“There you are, you little shit.” The guy looked murderous as he took a gun out of his waistband and pointed it toward Cyrus. Blood was streaming down the man’s face, the eye where Cyrus had stabbed him swollen and bloody.

Cyrus’s heart filled his throat so that he almost gagged, his gaze darting around as he looked for a way out of this he hadn’t yet seen. His only hope was to get around the furious man with the gun, and he couldn’t figure out a way to make that happen.

“You’re trapped, you little bitch. But first, I’m going to teach you a lesson.” The man swore and took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood running down his cheek. “You almost took my eye out.” He bent and picked up a stick off the ground. “And now I’m gonna do the same to you.”

All my planning. All my work, and my luck runs out here.

Mom. Dad. Help me.

The thought almost made him sob, but he gulped it back.

The nose picker advanced, and Cyrus glanced over his shoulder. If he took more than five steps back, he’d fall off the cliff. He’d hurl to the bottom, bouncing off each small ledge before landing in the rocks below, just like the pebbles had.

The man took another step forward, and Cyrus risked one step back.

Away. “After I take out your eye, I’m gonna hang you over that cliff by your feet until you shit yourself.

I’m gonna make you squeal like a little pig.

You think you were scared in that room? You don’t know scared.

You don’t know pain. But you’re about to.

And then it’s going to become your whole existence. ”

The loud shaking of a tree caught their attention, and the man looked back as Cyrus focused his gaze on the rustling branches. A flash of black appeared in a gap, and Cyrus sucked in a breath as the man swore, raising his gun and aiming.

But as quick as that, the trees went still, and the branches to the right began moving with whatever large creature was back there.

A bear. It has to be a black bear.

Cyrus wanted to cry. His knees began shaking as his lip trembled. He’d begged for help, and things had gotten worse.

The man fired his gun into the moving tree, but then the one next to that one started swaying with movement, and he fired again. The blasts were so loud that Cyrus cried out, going to his knees and bringing his hands to his ears.

All the trees seemed to be shaking and moving now with whatever hulking thing was in there, flashes of black giving the man something to shoot at.

He whipped his gun back and forth, firing repeatedly.

Cyrus used the opportunity to “walk” on his knees away from the edge of the basin and to the right of the man.

But even if the kidnapper remained occupied and he made it past him, he’d have to dive through the same tree where the massive creature was.

He stopped again, frozen with dread. And suddenly, the trees stopped moving entirely, the branches going still.

“Got you, fucker!” the nose picker yelled, pivoting back toward Cyrus, looking surprised that he’d moved. He advanced, and Cyrus put his hands on the earth, gripping the sandy dirt like it might anchor him to the ground when this man tried to drag him to his death.

“Hey, asshole.”

At the sound of the voice, Cyrus let out a bark of fear and the man spun around yet again, bringing his weapon up. It wasn’t a bear. It was a man. He was tall and muscular, and his black hair glinted in the sun.

“Who the fuck are you? Stop right there or I’ll shoot,” the kidnapper yelled.

“I’m here for Cyrus.”

Cyrus’s heart continued to gallop, breath hitched as he watched the exchange. He didn’t understand this. This man was here for him, but he wasn’t with the nose picker. Was he one of them ? The bad men? Or was he good?

“The hell you are. Get back. Who sent you?”

The black-haired man tipped his chin at Cyrus while keeping his gaze on the man with the gun. “Cyrus, head toward the trees.”

The nose picker swung the gun toward Cyrus. “Stay there,” he yelled. “Do not move a muscle.”

The black-haired man took another step forward. “You’re not going to harm him. He’s precious goods. What would happen if you killed the merchandise?” He took another step forward. “Plus, you’re out of bullets.”

The man reached in his pocket, his lips spreading into a grin as he dropped something from the gun on the ground and shoved whatever had been in his pocket into the gun.

“Checkmate,” he said. And Cyrus didn’t know all the parts of a gun, but he was smart enough to know that the man had just put more bullets in.

The black-haired man’s expression didn’t change, but Cyrus swore his muscles flexed, and then he went still. He hadn’t expected that. Cyrus’s hope had flared briefly, and now it plummeted again.

The kidnapper kept the gun on the man with the black hair, and he moved quickly toward Cyrus.

He was going to grab Cyrus, and then he was probably going to kill this guy, whoever he was.

Then he’d do whatever he wanted to Cyrus.

His fingers dug into the soft dirt, and suddenly he realized that he did have a weapon. He was already holding one.

He trained his gaze on the black-haired man for several heart-pounding moments.

It appeared he was beginning to crouch or brace for a bullet or something, and Cyrus held his breath as he began to raise his hands.

Then, just when the nose picker was close enough to reach for him, Cyrus hurled the fistfuls of dirt in his face and dove to the right.

The man screeched, bringing a hand to what had been his one good eye as he waved the gun toward Cyrus.

But Cyrus was already on the ground, and so when the black-haired man let out a roar and began rushing forward, the blinded kidnapper swung in his direction, firing repeatedly.

Cyrus covered his ears again, crawling away breathlessly as the shots missed and the black-haired man went low and then slammed into the nose picker with a loud thwack.

The kidnapper bellowed and stumbled backward, both men now fighting for the gun. They grunted and wrestled, and it seemed like the black-haired man was moving in a circle, the bad guy with his eyes clenched shut forced to follow what looked like a weird dance.

Cyrus’s back hit a tree trunk, and he watched in stunned silence as the black-haired man twisted out of the nose picker’s grasp.

The man with the gun raised his weapon again and began firing wildly. Cyrus’s eyes felt like they were nearly popping out of his head as the black-haired man ducked and stayed low and then stepped right to the edge of the cliff and said, “Missed me.”

The blinded kidnapper whirled in his direction and fired as the black-haired man leaped around behind him, put his hands flat on the nose picker’s back, and pushed.

The man who’d imprisoned Cyrus stumbled forward, screaming as he flailed his arms and went flying over the edge of the cliff.

Moments later there was a soft thwack from below.

For a full minute, Cyrus didn’t move, his breath sawing from his chest as his heart continued to pound. The man turned, his mouth set in a thin line as the sounds of the forest returned. Birds. A small animal scampering somewhere close by. The distant roar of water.

The man walked toward Cyrus and knelt down slowly in front of him. He took Cyrus’s shaking hands and held them in his. “Hi, Cyrus. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Are, are you one of them?” His voice sounded tinny, not his own.

“Them? The bad guys? No. My name is Rex, and I’m here to help you. I’m here to bring you home.”

His lungs felt so tight, like he’d run a hundred miles, and his skin felt clammy. His heart was finally starting to feel like it wasn’t slamming against the wall of his chest. “Rex,” he repeated.

“Yes.” The man named Rex reached into his back pocket, brought out a wallet, opened it, and handed Cyrus a card.

Cyrus took it and read it over. Rex Lowe. It was an employee ID. “You work for the NSA?”

“I do. They didn’t send me, but I hope knowing who I am makes you feel safe enough to come with me now.”

This man, Rex, had saved him from the nose picker.

But having proof that he was who he said he was helped even more, and the fact that he worked for the NSA seemed good too.

But what really made his breath come easier was the other card Cyrus saw in his wallet.

He pointed to it, and Rex plucked that one out.

It was a benefits card. “You were in the army?” Cyrus asked.

“I was,” Rex said. “That card is old, but yes, I was an army man.”

“My dad was too,” Cyrus said.

Rex smiled, and it seemed kind of sad, like maybe he already knew Cyrus’s dad was dead. He watched as Rex put the cards back in his wallet and returned it to his pocket.

Cyrus had learned how to read people by looking in their eyes, and he did that now.

His dad had told him you could tell a lot that way.

This man, Rex, had the same seriousness that Mr. Abdullah had, and he had the same niceness as his dad.

And they’d both been soldiers. Good guys. “I’ll come with you,” Cyrus said.

“Thank you,” Rex said back. And then Cyrus followed Rex away from the canyon, through the trees, until he could hear the sound of traffic in the distance.

What he hadn’t yet told this man named Rex Lowe, this soldier, was that he couldn’t take him home, because Cyrus didn’t have one of those anymore.

He was no longer behind bars, but he didn’t know if he’d ever truly be safe again.