Chapter 1

 

Abe guided his tank across the ridgeline and aimed the muzzle at the pass a thousand yards down range. The low rumble of his engine throbbed through his headphones as he considered the situation. He was covered on the left and the right by scouts, and so far, they'd seen nothing. Which meant the enemy had to be charging the pass.

“Abe, crate up the dog,” his mother called. “Your father will be home any minute, and I don’t want Zeke running around during dinner.”

Puffing out his exasperation, Abe's fingers danced across the keyboard.

Where are they, guys? The enemy was here a second ago. They can't be far.

“Okay, Mom,” he called over his shoulder. “Let me finish this battle, then I’ll do it.” From his position on the game room floor, wedged between a worn leather couch and his dad's little-used weight bench, he heard his mother close the refrigerator and the sound of dishes clattering.
“Abraham Boyd,” she bellowed from the top of the stairs. “You put that dog up right now, young man, or no more games for the rest of the week.” Her heels click-clacked back to the kitchen and the sound of running water indicated the conversation was at an end.

Abe grunted out his frustration before typing in:
Sorry guys gotta go... back in a few.

Mom was so unfair. Dad wasn’t going to be home for another twenty minutes anyway. In five, ten minutes tops, the battle would be done. If his team won, he’d earn enough credits to buy a new gun for his tank. As it stood, not only were his teammates going to be pissed, but he stood to lose a thousand credits in order to repair the tank that would certainly be destroyed.

“Come on, Zeke. “He slapped the rump of the lean German Shepard lying next to him and pushed to his feet. “Time to crate up.” 

Zeke, an over-eager two-year-old, sprang up and bounded excitedly down the stairs, following his nose to the aroma of simmering sauerkraut and bratwurst.

Abe followed Zeke down the carpeted stairs and into the spacious living area where a couch, his dad’s leather recliner and a 52” TV shared the open space with his mother’s granite-topped kitchen. The shepherd paused at his master’s heels before racing into the living room and jumping up to stare out the window.

“No, crate up, come on, Zeke, hop in.” Abe patted the top of Zeke’s wire frame cage. A low growl vibrated Zeke's chest before he turned and gave Abe a weary, soulful look

“Come on, boy, let's go.”

Zeke dropped from the window and slunk to his crate before plopping onto his pillow with a sigh.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Abe said, scruffing the dog's head and latching the door.

“What was that?” His mother asked. She squinted through a rising cloud of steam and tucked a blonde lock behind her ear. “I didn’t hear that.”

“Nothing, Mom. Just talkin’ to Zeke.”

She smiled and lifted the lid from a skillet, sending another cloud of steam somersaulting towards the ceiling “All right. Go play, but when you father comes home, I expect you to turn that junk off and come right down to dinner.”

“It’s not junk, Mom.” Abe rolled his eyes and raced upstairs.

As he expected, his tank was a smoldering hulk, the game lost. At the bottom of his screen, the flashing icon indicated he had a message. It was from his best friend, Robbie Hope.
What up dude? You get answer to #4 on homework?

Abe dug through his backpack and pulled out the homework sheet from Mrs. Green’s fifth-grade math. Everyone said Mrs. Green was the hardest teacher in school. Abe wasn’t sure that was true, but she was plenty hard.

He typed in: I got 22.3

He was waiting for a reply when the doorbell chimed and set Zeke to barking.

“Abe, can you see who that is?” his mother called.

Stomping downstairs, he gazed through the frosted glass at a smiling man wearing a sports coat, blue jeans with a stain on the thigh, and long brown hair combed behind his ears.

Abe cracked the door and peered out. “Can I help you?” 

The smile on the man’s thin lips split open like a gash revealing a row of crooked yellow teeth. “Yeah, I think you can,” he said.” Then he raised a foot and drove the door inward. 

The momentum of the heavy oak door caught Abe in the chest, tossing him into the air. He hit the hardwood floor with a hollow thud and slid headfirst into the couch. Zeke went wild, howling and gnashing at the metal bars to get out. Stunned, Abe rolled to his side, the top of his head burning, his right arm and shoulder numb. The man in the jacket rushed past and Abe heard his mother scream. A second man, taller than the first with a bald head and pockmarked face stepped in and slammed the door behind him. He raced after the first man leaving behind a musky stench of body odor and a smell like Grampa Glen’s whiskey.

In the kitchen, plates shattered to the floor as Abe pulled himself up and peered over the couch. The jacket man had the back of his mother’s dress clutched in one hand and was dragging her out of the kitchen. She swung a skillet over her head and brought it down on the bald man’s head with a ringing thud; sauerkraut and brats flew from the skillet and scattered across the floor. Jacket man swung her in a circle and flung her into the wall. A chunk of drywall tumbled to the floor as his Mom staggered back and took another swing catching the jacket man with the skillet and knocking him sideways. As they fought, Zeke howled with rage, the cage rattling as he threw himself against the door in an attempt to get out.

Abe stared at the scene his fingers clamped to the couch, his legs shaking with the watery looseness of fear. As he watched, the men overpowered his mom, forced the pan from her hand and knocked her to the floor. The bald man swung a leg across her hips as she let out a howl of frustration raking her fingernails across his face. He halted her resistance with a punch that bounced her head off the floor with a sound like a dropped melon. Then jacket man glanced at Abe his gaze drifting to the front door.

“Help!” Abe cried. His voice caught in his throat, the word barely a whisper.

For an instant, he considered freeing Zeke. But his crate was too near the bad men. Instead, he turned and dashed for the front door his legs wobbly and weak. Where was Dad? He would be here soon. Where was he? If he made it outside, the neighbors would hear. He'd scream and they'd hear. They would call the police and Dad would come. He'd beat up the bad men.

With each step, the door grew larger. Then he was there. Like moving in a dream, he slapped a hand on the knob, swung the door open. He was going to do it. He was going to get Dad. He’d be a hero.

A hand slammed down on his shoulder. Fingers dug painfully into his flesh, yanked him from his feet. He hit the floor … hard, fireworks exploding behind closed eyelids and for a moment, things went black. 

Abe blinked back tears and slowly sat up. There was a whistling in his ears and a metallic taste in his mouth. “Mom?” He heard the sounds of blows, his mother’s cries of pain. 

“Mom?” He called louder and pushed to his feet.

“Do something with that little fuck,” the big man said. “That asshole’s gonna be home any minute and we can’t be messin’ 'round.”

“What’cha want me ta do with him?” Jacket man asked.

“I don’t give a fuck. Just get him out of the way. But don’t kill him,” the big man said. “Once we cap Boyd, we can have us a little fun with him an’ this bitch.”

“Yeah, I know the plan,” Jacket man said.

Abe stumbled towards the kitchen, the world swirling around him. “Mom?” On the far side of the room, Zeke barked savagely, the crate rattling with his efforts to get out.

When Abe rounded the couch, he saw his mother prostrate at the big man’s feet, her face pale, her eyes closed. A rivulet of blood dribbled down her forehead and across her cheek. As he watched, the big man hoisted her to his shoulders and carried her up the stairs.

The jacket man crossed his arms and stared at Abe. He could feel the malicious heat in the man’s icy blue eyes, knew he meant to kill him, kill his mom. In a flood of humiliation, Abe’s bladder released as warmth cascaded down his leg and into his shoes, pooling on the floor beneath him.

The man's brows took on a curious arch as his eyes drifted to the puddle forming at Abe's feet. Then he cocked his arm and took two quick steps forward. Abe raised his hands and closed his eyes but the blow smashed through his defenses and landed on his chin. He remembered flying through the air and hitting the wall... then nothing. 

When he awoke, he found himself lying amongst galoshes, coats, and gloves, a faded stream of light leaking in from beneath the closed door. His jaw throbbed with a dull heat and his head felt buzzy and light. There was a strange numbness to the top of his scalp and his fingers came away bloody when he probed it. At first, Abe didn't recognize where he was, then slowly his mind came into focus. He was in the coat closet, he knew that now. What he didn’t know was how long he’d been there. 

He tried to push past the pain in his head, tried to think. Where was momma? The bald man carried her up the stairs. Abe struggled to his knees and stood bracing himself against the wall at the sudden hammering in his head and the wave of dizziness that set his stomach churning. 

Where was daddy? He fumbled in the darkness, found the knob. It turned easily, but when he pushed, the door wouldn’t budge. Abe pressed an ear against the wood and listened. He didn’t hear Zeke. He didn’t hear anything else. There came a thud and a muffled cry. His mother’s cry.
“Momma?” 
No answer.

“Momma! You okay?” His shout sent a lance of pain through his temples.

Distant laughter.

Abe rattled the knob. He kicked the door again and again and again. Then fell to his knees and wept. Where was his father? Where?