Saving Grace

53

The wheels slammed against the rough, dirt road, jolting my body upwards so my head hit the roof of the stolen ute. I gripped the steering wheel; my knuckles flashed white. Don't worry, Scotty. I'm almost there.

I jerked the wheel to turn left, high beams illuminating the dense forest which had swallowed up each side of the uneven road. Low-hanging branches smacked into the windscreen, cracking against the glass. I checked the time. Fifteen minutes before the cops and robbers came bursting through Somerton's door. Fifteen minutes to get there and trade myself in before he diced up my brother and mailed me his parts.

I wrenched the wheel right, slammed on the breaks. Dammit. The trees that had swallowed each side of the road now came together to consume its end. I looked down at the GPS. A few miles north, and I would find my brother. My teeth clenched, heart pounded, sweat poured. I could do this. I could get there first.

I left the headlights on, the car running, and the engine grumbling into the night. Through the dense woods, I clamoured over fallen trunks, through prickly bushes, past venomous snakes and creeping spiders. My skin was sliced in every which way – grazes on my knees, bruises on my shins, fine cuts along my face and neck. I didn't feel a thing. I just knew I had to get there, had to take my brother's place before it was too late. I knew Godric and Phillip were good at what they did, but if Somerton was the man they claimed him to be, my brother would be dead before they ever set foot in the house.

Out of murky shadows, Somerton's two storey house emerged. It loomed over me, tall as the black sky and as complex as a maze. There was one single orange light burning in the upstairs room and its gentle glow cast a shadow in the frame – a man, sitting, waiting. He knew I was here.

I lifted my chin and stepped towards the house.

Come on, Somerton. Give me your best shot.

© A.G. Travers 2018