Page 54 of The Fix
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 ofthem? 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.
