The Dangerous Kind & Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

cheer.
    Dick appeared beside me carrying Dad’s rifle. Rich pulled on my backpack and gripped my left arm at the elbow. “Time to go.”
    Chief puffed up. “Good looking buck. You boys have a permit, I suppose?”
    “Jason’s the hunter,” I said.
    “In all the near-tragedy, Jason prolly lost it,” Rich said.
    “Yeah-huh,” Chief Rose said. “Save me the tongue and the liver, will you? I don’t think we need be askin’ too many questions. Young Kind has been through enough without me pilin’ on, I imagine.” The Chief pulled his glasses down his nose and looked at me. I felt like I was strapped to a board. He spoke loud enough for everyone to hear him doing his job. “You come up here again, you bring a compass and learn to use it, okay? I do not know how you got so lost, boy. The mountain’s that way.” He pointed. “The whole Atlantic Ocean’s that way. The woods are thick and you musta been in shock, but you missed an ocean , son.” When he laughed, his belly shook. Some of the local hyenas joined in.
    The searchers shambled downhill in a ragged parade. The town had another story to chew. Stories are never swallowed and done with. For Poeticule people—Jason’s people, now—stories never lose their flavor. Small town stories are Poeticule Bay’s gum and glue.
    Where the old trail met the new logging road, Dick and Rich pushed me into their pickup truck. Rich drove, I sat bitch and Dick cradled the rifle in the suicide seat. “The hospital is quite a ways,” I said. “Can we swing by my house first so I can pick up a few things?”
    Dick checked the safety and pulled the bolt back. “What do you mean, your house, Joey?”
    “Jason might be in hospital a few days. Concussion maybe, or a gallstone operation, if the paramedics are right. I don’t know.”
    “You hope,” Rich said. He lay on his horn and maneuvered the truck through a gaggle of cars. Everyone jockeyed to pull away from the road’s soft shoulder and head for home, but Rich bullied his way into a narrow gap and shot through.
    At the tee junction, the back tires spit gravel and we slid onto the macadam. We followed the ambulance west, our backs toward Poeticule Bay. The ambulance plowed ahead of us, dividing the night as its flashing lights—red, white, blue, red, white, blue—strobed the countryside. At the next tee junction, we stopped. The ambulance stabbed out with one siren blast and roared off north toward Orono’s hospital. The ambulance’s big engine growled as it took off and they hit their high beams. My brother disappeared over a hill in a corona of light.
    Rich let the engine idle a moment more and then looked to Dick, who nodded. Rich swung the wheel left. We weren’t following the ambulance. I was not surprised. We headed south, down the coast until another crossroad gave way to a smooth road with fresh asphalt. Xenon gaslights cast a bright yellow glow on the I-95.
    Rich stood on the brakes at the bottom of the ramp. The tires squealed in protest and the truck rocked to a stop. Dick was still holding the rifle. He didn’t want to chance being seen with it, so I followed Rich out the driver’s side door. Dick shoved me out with the rifle stock’s butt jabbing at my kidneys. The highway stretched south to New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut and New York. I would never see a dime of Dad’s insurance money. I didn’t even have a change of underwear. 
    “Your brother wanted us to make sure you stay until he gets out,” Rich said.
    “And this?”
    “We’re Jason’s friends ,” Rich said. “We’re doing what’s good for him. Sometimes water is thicker than blood, I guess.” He thought a moment, dug two twenties out of his pocket, threw the bills at my feet and backed away. He kept his eyes on me until he got back behind the wheel. He slammed his door and locked it. I watched them back up and begin a three-point turn. Dick rolled down his window and pointed the rifle at me. “Don’t look