I think that we're going to leave Southern Knights alone for a while after this chapter, although I have no intentions of ending the story just yet. Several of my readers have suggested story lines, and I haven't decided where to go with them. Maybe one of you has an idea that you'd like to share, a possible line to use. If so, feel free to let me know. In the mean time, a good friend, The Sorcerer, is helping my design a web site, and a long time dream will be up and running soon.
Thanks to all,
Dan
rimshotsplanet@hotmail.com
Southern Knights 8:
Brad jumped in the passenger side door of Tate's Dad's truck and buckled in. "He said he was headed towards Gatlin, sir. He thought he was following Curtis' taillights."
Pat started the truck and backed out in to the lightly falling snow. "I guess I know somebody that can tell us where he's headed." He put the truck in drive and threw Brad back when the truck accelerated. "How far behind did Tate think he was?"
"About ten minutes." Brad answered. "That's when the cell phone cut out."
"Well, Ralph Mann is a son of a bitch, but I think I can convince him to tell me." Pat turned on to Old Hickory Road and accelerated towards the Mann home.
Tate almost missed the dirt road that turned off behind a historical marker, putting the Camaro into a broad slide, then rocketing up the road. The mud was freshly turned, telling him that someone had turned here, and he crossed his fingers.
Worrying was maddening, and Tate had plenty of time while driving here to imagine everything that Curtis could've done to Bryce. Wild images raced through his mind, and his heart threatened to explode. A couple of times, tears rolled down his cheeks as he begged God to watch over Bryce.
The road narrowed before a hairpin turn, and the car broke loose, throwing mud everywhere. Tate corrected and slid into the middle of the road, but he had no time to see what was in front of him. He barely realized that the tailgate of the truck was there before he plowed into it, cracking his forehead on the steering wheel.
Bryce's breath was ragged as he plunged down a hill, desperately trying to stay on his feet. He could hear Curtis behind him, crashing through tree limbs like some kind of bear, and he dodged to the left, trying to gain distance. Thick underbrush tangled his feet, and he fell hard, knocking the wind out of him.
He stayed down for a minute, fighting for breath and listening to see where Curtis was. It was quiet for several long minutes, and Bryce lifted his butt up, sliding his duct-taped hands under himself. His arms were sweating, and the tape was looser than it had been. Listening intently for Curtis, he worked on the tape until finally his hands were free. He grimaced and rubbed them together, restoring circulation.
A loud snap came from about a hundred yards away, and Bryce quietly pulled off his bright yellow coat, leaving him in a black turtle neck and black jeans. He stuffed the coat under a pine tree and quietly headed back up the hill, curving away from the sound of the branch breaking.
"Let me explain it to you in terms you'll understand, Ralph." Pat Corbridge grabbed double hands full off Ralph Mann's greasy t-shirt and hauled him up out of the ratty recliner chair that sat in the Mann's living room. "Both of my boys are up there with that psychopath you raised, and I'm gonna go help 'em. You can tell me where you boy went, or I can throw your ass through that wall, and we can resume the conversation. Decide."
"Hold on, Pat." Ralph threw up his hands to shield his face. "The only place I know is the huntin' cabin. It's just past the Gatlin battle memorial on the south side." He whiny voice went up several votives as Pat shook him hard. "I swear it! I don't know no other place he'd go!"
Pat disgustedly threw Mann back into the chair. "I'd think real hard about getting a lawyer, Ralph. The cops'll be here in about five minutes." Pat turned to the door and gathered Brad with a look. "You better hope they find your boy before I do."
As they walked out to the truck, Pat pointed at the curb. "Wait here, Brad. The cops are gonna need a guide."
"All due respect, fuck that, sir." Brad opened the door and climbed in the truck. "Joziah can lead the troops. I'm with you."
"Godammit, I don't have time for this!" Pat shouted. "Get out and wait here."
"No, sir. Tate and Bryce are my friends, and so are you." Brad met Pat's eyes with a silent plea. Don't leave me behind.
Pat sighed and shook his head, climbing in the truck. "Your Daddy ain't gonna like this much." He started the truck and pulled out of the driveway.
"Actually, I think he'd be proud." Brad said quietly. "I would be."
Pat glanced at Brad and smiled slightly. "I would, too."
Tate blinked at the steering wheel, trying to focus on it. His head throbbed, and he touched his forehead, his hand coming away with a small amount of blood on it. Through the windshield, the hood of his car was crumpled, and the bed of Curtis' truck rested half way up on it. He swallowed hard. That had been close.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, and he had to wait for several seconds to stand up, trying not to get sick. Finally, he rested his arms on the roof of the car and looked out at the side of the road. There had been some kind of scuffle in the fresh snow, and he could see two sets of footprints leading into the darkness. Two unfired shotgun shells lay beside the truck where Curtis had apparently dropped them. Tate shuddered, thinking about a gun being involved. IT renewed his strength a bit, and he stood away from the car and sloshed around to where the trails started.
Bryce stopped and caught his breath, leaning on a rock. It was cold, and he shivered, wishing he had his coat back. He was totally lost now, the darkness completely disorienting him. He looked around at the long hillside and could vaguely see where he'd been, but had no idea where he was going. He'd thought that by heading uphill, he'd hit the road again, but it hadn't happened yet.
He scooped up some snow and melted it in his mouth, grateful for the moisture. He started up the hill again, grabbing another handful. He tried to take each step carefully, not making any noise, but each sound seemed to amplify in the silence.
It was hard to see even a few feet in front of him, and the weather was getting worse. In places, the ground broke away, and he slid back down the way he'd come. He reached up and grabbed a rock to pull him self up, and it gave loose. Bryce screamed as he slid down the hill, trying to grab anything to stop. Suddenly he was in free fall, and he watched his feet go out into the air, with nothing under him or behind him. He glanced at the cliff face as it sailed by.
Tate heard the scream and stopped, orienting himself. He headed in the new direction, moving as fast as he could. It was completely dark now, and he had to find every step carefully. He knew the scream had been Bryce, he knew the voice. His chest pounded as a whole new crop of mind pictures started in his eyes.
Pat barely stopped the truck, nearly sliding into Tate's car. "Hey!" He shouted, trying to grab Brad's coat as Tate's friend barreled out of the truck. "You need to wait and see what's going on!" He shoved his way out of the truck and ran after the tall blond.
"There's foot prints over here!" Brad called out, following the trail. Pat closed in behind him, and they started down the hillside. "Looks like all three went this way." A shot rang out, and their heads snapped up. "Oh, shit."
Tate dove behind a rock. The birdshot blew the snow off the top of the rock, and he squatted there, fighting panic. He'd seen Curtis for only a fraction of a second before he saw the gun come up, and he instinctively dived out of the way.
"That ain't a good hiding place, Mr. Famous quarterback!" Curtis called out, firing at the rock again. "Why don't you make it interesting and run, fag!"
Tate jumped at the sound of the second shot and tried to get as low behind the rock as he could. "You're crazy, Curtis! Knock this shit off before somebody gets hurt!"
"Somebody's already gonna get hurt, asshole. You, and that little bitch of yours. I'm sick and fuckin' tired of being the loser. This time, you loose." Curtis jacked a new shell into the shotgun. "Now do me a favor and show one fuckin' hair, Corbridge."
Pat grabbed Brad's shoulder, causing him to jump. He met the kid's eyes and silently motioned towards the far right, down towards the sound of Tate's voice. He made a motion of packing a snowball, and of throwing it at Curtis. Brad nodded; swallowing hard, and silently went down the hill, keeping plenty of distance between him and that gun.
Pat set off the other way, more familiar with the terrain, and circled behind Ralph's boy, setting each step quietly, always listening for movement. Curtis and Tate shouted to each other again, and pat silently prayed that Tate would keep him occupied for just a few more minutes.
"Curtis, do you really want to go to prison? That's insane!" Tate called out, carefully looking around the rock. The ground right in front of him exploded, and he jumped back into the cover.
"Prison? Hell, that's a step up for my family, Corbridge." Curtis laughed. "I just want you and that little fucker dead." He stepped towards the rock, carefully aiming the shotgun. "That's all I want."
Bryce opened his eyes and looked past his feet at the floor of the canyon, a hundred feet below. His shirt was bunched up under his arms, and a blazing hot pain burned down his back where the branch he was hanging on gouged him as it caught his shirt. He swallowed hard, fighting tears. Somewhere over his head, he heard Tate and Curtis hollering at each other, and he'd counted three gunshots.
"Tate?" He wailed out, frightened. Nothing happened for a few seconds, and he heard shouting again. "Tate?" He called louder. The branch creaked, settling a little, and he bit off a scream.
"Be quiet!" Brad hissed, his face appearing over the side of the cliff. "Are you okay?" He whispered.
"Yeah, but this stick isn't holding long." Bryce whined quietly.
"I'll find a branch or something. Hang on." Brad's face disappeared.
"Real funny." Bryce whispered, closing his eyes.
Curtis was nearly at the rock, a gruesome smile on his face. "Tell you what, Corbridge. Let's make this interesting. You run like hell, and I'll count to five before I shoot you."
Tate's fingers closed around a rock about the size of a shoe. In one motion, he stood up and let loose with the rock, sending it in a perfect aim at Curtis' head. Curtis tried to dodge it and pulled the trigger at the same time. The mistimed shot hit Tate in the leg, and they both went down.
Pat burst out of the bushes and jumped on Curtis, knocking the gun away. "Tate, are you alright?" He called, fighting Curtis' hands and trying to restrain him.
"I don't think so." Tate rolled over and cradled his leg. "He shot me in the leg!"
"Get off me!" Curtis bellowed, trying to buck Pat off. Pat doubled up his fist and nailed Curtis in the jaw, cold cocking him. He stood up and trotted over to his son, pulling a bandana out of his pocket.
"Looks like it grazed your knee, Tate. Hold this on it." Pat wound the bandana around Tate's knee.
"Find Bryce, Dad. I'm fine." Tate held his hand over the scarf.
"I need help." Brad trotted up. "Bryce went of a cliff. He's hanging on a branch, and I can't reach him."
"How far?" Pat asked, following.
"Only about six feet, but I couldn't reach." Brad stopped at the cliff and lay down. "Bryce?"
"Yeah?" His voice came from the darkness.
"Son? Are you okay?" Pat got on all fours and leaned out.
"The stick keeps breaking." Bryce sounded terrified.
"Hold my feet." Brad said and started over the cliff. Pat caught his feet and held them as Brad stretched down, his face level with Bryce's. "Hey, buddy. How's it hangin'?"
"God, yer funny." Bryce's scared eyed met his.
"Can you climb up?" Brad asked, looking at the Branch.
"Yeah." Bryce's arms circled around his chest firmly.
"When I break this, I want you to climb up and help Pat pull me up, got it?" Brad asked. Bryce nodded. "Go." He snapped the stick and grunted as all of Bryce's weight fell on him. "Hurry, baby, hurry." He growled.
Bryce scrambled up and grabbed Pat's collar, hauling himself onto the firm ground. Pat grunted, pulling back on Brad's legs. They rolled together onto the ground, and Bryce scrambled into his father's arms.
"Are you alright, boy?" Pat's voice broke.
"I knew you'd come." Bryce sniffed and threw his arms around Pat's neck.
"We better get Tate to a hospital." Brad said, standing up. He held out his hand and pulled them to their feet.
"What happened?" Bryce straightened painfully, feeling the huge scratch that went all the way down his back.
"That crazy son of a bitch shot him in the knee." Pat spat bitterly, leading them back from the cliff. As the walked, they could hear sirens approaching, and Brad pointed up towards the road.
"The back-up's here."
Pat grunted and knelt down beside Tate. The rag was soaked with blood. "How we doin' there, son?" Tate opened his eyes and smiled at his dad, then at Bryce.
"Little fucker." Tate mumbled thickly. "Always a pain in the ass." He held out his arms, throwing them around Bryce. "Can we play a different game now?"
"Is he in shock?" Brad asked worriedly. He helped Pat stretch his son out and lift his legs up, careful of the wound.
"I think so. Run up there and tell them where we are. We need an ambulance." Pat commanded. Brad ran off up the hill, and he looked at his boys. "If you two don't think this comes without an ass whoopin'....." They both looked up at the sound of Joziah and Brad walking briskly down the hill. Joziah was shouting, and Brad was laughing.
"You ain't funny, dammit!" Joziah snarled as he came into the clearing. "Runnin' off and leavin' me by myself, no idea what's goin' on!"
Tate smiled weakly and put his hand on his father's shoulder. "Love you, Pop." He drifted away, into the darkness.
"Ow, Mother!" Bryce complained as Lorna adjusted his bandage. To keep the antibacterial salve on his wound, he needed to have gauze wrapped around his chest to keep the pads in place on his back. "Not so tight?"
"Oh, hold still, you little snot." Lorna chuckled. "You only have to wear it a few more days, and I didn't tighten it as much as yesterday's." She helped him pull on a baggy t-shirt and followed him out of the bathroom.
"Will you still take me to town today? I need to finish Christmas shopping." He asked, pulling sweat pants out of his dresser. "Tate said to get Brad and Joze music, but I don't know what they like."
"What about a gift certificate? Then they can decide what they want." She offered, putting dirty clothes in the hamper.
"That's a good idea. What about for Pat?"
She paused for a second. "I really don't know, Bryce. I don't have a suggestion."
"Maybe a set of sockets for that air ratchet thing that Tate got for 'im?" Bryce looked up at her. "I have no idea what it does, but those things fit on it."
She chuckled and put her arm around him. "They'll use it on the cars, honey, although I know not why. Go with the socket thingies."
Tate lay stretched out on the couch, his home for the last two days, his healing knee wrapped and propped on a pillow. "Fumble!" He roared, throwing his hands in the air, cursing at the television. "Jesus, Dad, can't they even see it when it happens at their feet?"
Pat chuckled and sipped at his beer. "You tell me. I saw the same thing you did."
"Assholes." Tate grumbled.
Bryce jumped from the top of the stairs and landed on his feet, hands out, at the bottom. With a gleam in his eye, he looked at Tate. "Bet you wish you could do that." He said impishly.
"Bet you wish you were tall enough to see out of the bathtub, geek." Tate laughed.
"I can see out of it." Bryce said indignantly. "I just can't get out of it." He grinned and walked into the kitchen. Pat shook his head and sighed, glancing at Tate.
"If you two don't stop jumping down the steps, your mother's gonna kill you, and I won't testify against her." He said, setting his beer down.
"Why are you telling me? I didn't do it." Tate raised his hands.
"Oh, and you're the innocent victim here, right?" Pat laughed.
"Bryce Corbridge, I heard that!" Lorna called as she descended the stairs.
"I will not have you two ruining my floors like that!" She turned into the kitchen. "Those scuff marks do not buff out, young man, and I no someone who's volunteering to do it." He voice trailed into the garage as the door opened and shut.
Pat chuckled and looked at Tate. "Looks like you have a fall guy for a little while, at least 'til you heal up."
"I didn't even set him up for it, either." Tate snickered.
Later that night, Tate stretched out on his bed and watched Bryce plug in the artificial Christmas tree that they had decorated together. Bryce had fussed over it constantly, and Tate had humored him. Bryce hadn't had a lot of good Christmas', and Tate was going all out to make this one perfect.
It was Christmas Eve, and a warm fire burned in the fireplace, compliments of their dad. It and the tree were the only lights on in the room, and Bryce giggled and picked up a package, bringing it to the bed.
"This one's new. I know it wasn't here last night. I looked." He said, walking on his knees across the mattress. "There's one just like it for you, but there's no name who it's from."
"I think they're from Dad, but I'm not sure." Tate yawned. "Why it's up here instead of under the big tree, I don't know."
"Can I open it?" Bryce's eyes glowed like a kid's, and Tate laughed. "Sure, why not."
Bryce tore at the wrapping on the small box with a passion, and pulled open the lid. Inside, nestled in cotton, was a small gold arrowhead on a gold chain. He lifted it out of the box; awe struck, and touched it almost reverently. "Oh, Tate. Look, it's inscribed."
"What's it say?"
Bryce swallowed hard, feeling tears in his eyes. It took a few seconds before he swallowed his emotions enough to read it to Tate. "To my son, Bryce. Love, Dad." The tears slipped loose, and he leaned forward on Tate's chest. "It's real cool to have a dad, you know that?"
"Yeah, I do." Tate blinked back his own tears. "Why don't you go get the one for me, and we'll go tell them goodnight." Bryce nodded and bounded off the bed, returning with the box. Tate opened it, revealing a small silver sword pendant. He turned it over in his fingers and read the inscription. "For my Warrior, Love, Dad."
"That's so cool." Bryce whispered. He kissed Tate quickly and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Let me get your robe."
They went downstairs and hugged Lorna, then went and found Pat in the den. He looked up and noticed the pendants. "Hey, you little shits, those are for in the morning."
"Sorry, Pop. Bryce counts boxes. We new something was new." Tate smiled and set his crutches against the desk to hug his father. "Thanks, Dad."
"You're welcome." Pat patted Tate's shoulders, then turned and embraced Bryce, careful of his sore back. "Merry Christmas, Son."
"You too, Dad." Bryce's eyes were wet, but he willed himself not to get mushy in front of either of them.
"Now, get you butts to bed, or I'll let Santa go to sleep before she drops off the presents." Pat chuckled and waited for Tate on his crutches, then followed them out of the room. "Goodnight boys."
"G'night, Pop."
"Night, Dad."
Bryce held the door open for Tate and helped him out of his robe, and then pulled back the sheets. He locked the door and hung up his own robe, then bounded up onto the bed where Tate held the covers for him.
"You'd think that the fire would keep it warmer in here." Bryce offered, snuggling up to Tate and looking at the tree. "I hate winter."
"I don't know. This ain't so bad." He slid his arm under Bryce and pulled his close. "This is what the cold weather's for."
Bryce laughed and draped his arm across Tate's chest. "I got everything I wanted." He said quietly.
"Me too." Tate kissed Bryce's cheek and looked at the tree. "I love you, Bryce."
"I love you, too."