Starfish_ A Novel - James Crowley [62]
As Lionel ran, he realized where he was. This trunk was once the deck of his ship, the branches its rigging and mast. He was in the stretch of broken trees where they had played pirate, and he knew this terrain well. He stopped and looked around the wood and thought about the long days of summer when they had played out Mr. Hawkins’s pirate tales in these tangles. Now he was also running, but instead of in search of make-believe buried treasure or evading imaginary captors, he ran for his life.
Lionel climbed through the thicket of branches at the tree’s prone top and then jumped down to another trunk that lay rotting underneath. He heard the men coming out of the wash and dropped to the far side of this tree, and burrowed himself under the trap of leaves collected at the elongated base.
Lionel lay, trying to slow his heavy breathing. He thought that his heart was about to burst out of his chest, and he could hear the men’s horses approach the clutter of fallen trees and stop.
“I’ve lost his trail, Sergeant,” a soldier reported. “It just disappeared.”
“Well, find it!” Lionel heard Jenkins shout.
Lionel held his breath and exhaled slowly through his nose as more men entered the area.
“Spread out—he can’t have gone far!” Jenkins continued to bellow as another horseman joined him just on the other side of Lionel’s hiding place.
“What do you make of it?” It was Private Lumpkin.
“What do I make of it?” Jenkins shot back. “I think that the captain’s gone soft is what I make of it! Back in the day, if ya didn’t hang rustlers ya would, at the very least, have ’em horsewhipped! Soft, I tell ya! Soft!”
Lionel lay under the rotting earth listening to Lumpkin and Jenkins continue to commiserate.
“Ya give these bastards an inch…” But Jenkins was interrupted as “over here—I’ve found tracks!” echoed through the woods.
“This best be him,” Jenkins said, jerking his horse’s head, and then he and Private Lumpkin were gone.
Lionel could hear the men as they moved to where the calls continued. Boy, had he done it this time, he thought, feeling the heavy ring of bear claws around his neck. How was he supposed to find Beatrice without leading these men straight to her?
He pushed the wet leaves off him and slowly raised his head. He thought about cutting directly across the Great wood to the base of the mountains. Maybe he could forgo the switchback trail and just climb straight up to where he had last seen Beatrice, Mr. Hawkins, and the rest of them?
He climbed over the trunk and, keeping low to the ground, cut across the woods back toward the meadow. He could hear Jenkins calling out orders and thought at one point that his scar-snarled voice grew louder as though he was, once again, getting closer.
Lionel ran as fast as he could, but the soldiers seemed to be multiplying among the trees that towered above them all. Lionel thought about how over the course of this summer, he and his sister had spoken in reverent whispers in these woods. These soldiers could be heard clear to Canada, if anyone was listening.
He ran down another wash and fell as he tried to make his way up the other side. His legs ached, and his lungs felt as though they were on fire; but the voices and the sound of approaching hooves made him get back on his feet. Lionel wondered if he should try to hide again or make a final, desperate break for the meadow.
Something moved somewhere above him, and Lionel ran. He came out of the lower end of the depression and turned to find Jenkins riding at breakneck speed directly toward him. Lionel spun around and ran, the heavy breathing of Jenkins’s horse getting closer with every beat of Lionel’s thundering heart.
“There he is! over here!” bounced from tree to tree. Lionel could hear the horse at his heels and knew that it was only a matter of seconds before Jenkins was on top of him. He felt a biting sting slash across his back and shoulder, and fell. He looked up to see Jenkins turning his horse, a riding whip still swinging from his wrist.