Giant Men and Violent Women

Forest Fairies

PRESLEY ANN

It's just so damn foggy tonight.

Great. Oh, and I forgot we had four extra wheels in the truck.

Date needed to lay flat, and there were six slaves, Hunt, Boxer, and me. We had to dump two of the wheels. Three slaves are in the third row of the truck, and three slaves are in the second row, allowing Date to lie on them. Hunt is stretched out on the floor.

Luckily, I'm in the front seat...with the window down. I'm praying now as we head down Route 2A that we don't get a flat. Normally, I'd never worry about something like that, but Date's in the truck, and if it wasn't for bad luck, he'd have no luck at all. It would only make sense for the truck that he's riding in to break down on the road and get three flats with only two spare tires while he lies, dying in it. I pray harder.

"I'm sorry to do this to you all," a prisoner in the third row says, "but I've gotta go again."

"No," Boxer says. "We'll never get there, fooling with you. Just hold it."

All I know about this man is that his bowels become loose when he's running from the law, and right now, they're completely open. We've stopped twice so that he can run into the woods and carry out his business. And I agree with Boxer; enough is enough.

"Listen, okay, I gotta go. This is what happens to me when I get like this. So, you can sit up there and judge me all you want, but I'm back here, thinking that, at any minute, The House is gonna come barreling down on us. Now, it won't matter to you," he says to Boxer. "Your mistress will take care of you. We heard how you and them other slaves over there are living. Y'all got heated cottages with a fireplace and air-condition. Y'all eat food right from your mistress's house—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Y'all ain't

livin' like we are. So I got good reasons to feel like this."

"Pull over, Box," Hunt says. "This happens to people when they're nervous."

Boxer immediately pulls to the side of the dark highway. Nothing but foggy sky, moose eyes, and yellow lines surround us. I look over my shoulder at Hunt and give him a look that says I shouldn't have brought along a doctor. He tilts his head at me, as though I'm being unreasonable. Boxer pops the trunk, and the prisoner jumps out and runs into the woods, disappearing into the fog. The thing is, he has no tissue, and the ground is frozen. There's no telling what he's using to clean himself.

The rest of us in the truck remain silent. I don't know anyone's name, and I don't ask. The less I know, the better. It's bad enough that they all know me. My only mission is to get everyone to safety, and then my job is done. I didn't even plan on doing this.

I'm sure Swanee is wondering why I stood her up, and I'm sure Jewels has been calling to check on me. I've been so busy, I've forgotten to check my phone to see if my mother called me back. And, now, I remember that I threw my purse and cell phone in the backseat when I got in the truck, and that's where it hopefully is now—among a truck filled with broke prisoners. Oh well.

The slave runs back from the woods to the truck and jumps in through the trunk. Boxer immediately pulls off before the trunk even closes.

We ride in silence.

It's taking forever.

I wish I had my cell phone on me.

Who knew Vernon was this far?

Wait, how did Boxer send word that we were coming?

I guess I should think of an excuse as to where I've been.

But I'll have to talk it over with Hunt first.

So, Ashley does have someone following me.

Wait, are they following us now?

No, they would have caught up with us during our bathroom stops.

Why are people so afraid of Ashley and Mercer?

Do they have some kind of underground rep?

Isn't it weird that someone shot Ashley's father in the same shoulder as Date?

Who do the Bouchards think they are?

I'm telling on them.

But how would I have found out about them?

"We're here," Boxer says.

Sure enough, the words Entering Vernon Vermont appear in black letters on a white sign. He slows down and pulls off to the side of the road, popping the trunk at the same time. The slaves in the third row of the truck don't wait for it to slow down. They hop out and run into the foggy woods. Gone forever. Two women come out of the misty fog like nymphs. Both with long hair—one Bad Luck, one redhead. They look like woodsy-living women who keep soup cans as flower vases. They come to the truck with a swift stride and cool confidence and wait next to it. Boxer jumps out to meet them. The slaves in the second row open the doors and impatiently look out of them, but they won't move because Date's on them.

"One at a time," Hunt tells them.

The one holding Date's legs eases out from under him and then jumps out. The woman with dark hair points behind her. He follows her direction. The slave in the middle does the same. The last slave, the battered one, is holding Date's head.

"Thank you, Miss Presley Ann," he says to me.

I give him a nod. He eases Date's head down on the seat, steps out of the truck, and walks toward where the others ran, dissipating into the fog. Hunt heads out of the truck near Date's head as Boxer heads into the backseat near his feet. The nymphs gather at the door near Date's feet, and together, with Boxer, they ease him out of the truck. The nymphs and Boxer hold Date and walk into the woods.

Hunt and I are alone.

It's dark. It's scary. But there's freedom out here. I crank the heat up and roll down the window. I know this sounds strange, but something feels good about this moment. Right now, I am a nobody. All I am is a woman in Vernon, Vermont, on the side of the road. I'm not trying to look pretty or say the appropriate thing. I'm not trying to convince people of anything. There is no one watching me. In this silence, it's just me.

Hunt stands outside for a moment, looking in the direction the others ran toward, but we can't see a thing. It's complete darkness and silence. We wait for Boxer to return. There is no doubt that Hunt's thinking about the plight of the prisoners after treating so many of their proponents and advocates. I wonder, after tonight, whose side Hunt will be on. I say nothing and let him have this moment to think it over.

And, now, Boxer walks out of the darkness, and Hunt heads back into the truck. I can tell from the look on Boxer's face that something is not right. He gets into the truck and closes his door.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Date?"

"They don't think he'll make it," Boxer says.

Silence fills the truck.

Date's going to die?

I turn around and look at Hunt. He looks back at me. We tried.

Wow. Date is going to die. Date. Dead? Will it really happen? Will he die?

Boxer pulls off.

Date dead?

"And," Boxer says as he avoids hitting a moose, "New Hampshire just left the Union."