Purgatory Ridge

At first, the road was smooth. Jo believed they were heading east. She lay on the floor of the van, which was covered with old shag carpet smelling of gasoline and dog. With the van traveling on the relative quiet of the paved road, she could hear Stevie whimpering, and she prayed he had his eyes shut. The van veered hard left-north-onto a road that, from the shudder of the undercarriage and the choke of dust, Jo figured was not paved. She tried to think what roads headed that way. There were several and all tunneled into the Superior National Forest. Fifteen minutes, and they turned again-east-and the ride became a torture of bumps that tossed her up off the carpet and brought her down hard. She tried to calculate miles but could only guess at speeds. Still, her sense was that they were east of the Iron Lake Reservation and just south of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.

They’d been in the van nearly an hour when it pulled to a stop. The man got out, came around to the back, and opened the doors.

“End of the line,” he said.

He grasped Jo by the ankles and pulled her to the edge.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

When she did, he grabbed her by the shoulders and positioned her to the side.

“Stay right there, gorgeous.”

Jo heard him bring the others out. To Stevie he said, “Keep those eyes closed.” Then there was a tearing of fabric and a moment later he said, “There, got your own blindfold now, kid. Everybody just hang tough.”

Jo heard him walk away. She couldn’t tell if anyone was with him. She tried to say Stevie’s name, but the duct tape over her mouth made it impossible. He came back, then away, then back and away, then he returned a last time for Jo. He grasped her brusquely by the arm and led her along. They entered a structure-Jo could tell by the dank smell, the closeness of the air, the way the distant chirp of tree frogs was suddenly muffled. Under her feet, she felt brittle grass give way to dirt. He stopped her, put his hands on her shoulders, and shoved her back against a square post. His hands were large and powerful, and they forced her down so that her back slid along the splintered post. She cried out as slivers of wood needled through her shirt into her skin. Her butt hit dirt. He looped a rope tight about her and cinched her to the post so that her hands behind her were pinned between the small of her back and the wooden post. When he’d finished, he lingered near her. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and then his fingers at the top buttons of her blouse. His hand crept down her skin toward her breasts. He made a sound, as if contemplating a good meal. The rope that bound her to the post kept him from exploring further. Like a spider retreating, his hand withdrew.

“Okay, everybody, listen up. You’re going to be here a while, so you might as well get used to the idea. Someone’s going to be outside all the time watching you. Try anything and you’ll be sorry.” He chuckled. “Oh, hell, you’re probably already sorry. But believe me, I can make you a lot sorrier. Moms, if you want your sonny boys left in one piece, you don’t do anything but sit unless I tell you otherwise. I don’t want you to make a sound, not even so much as a squeak. And, boys, if you get any ideas about playing heroes, if you try anything, I’ve got a knife the size of your arm and I’ll use it to slice your mothers’ tits right off.”

Everything fell quiet. Jo listened intently. The dirt floor let him move silently and she couldn’t hear him. She anticipated his touch again, but it never came. There wasn’t a sound, not even Stevie crying, and that worried her. She wanted to hear him, to know that her son was all right. Or as right as he could be, given the circumstances. Outside, the engine of a vehicle turned over and caught. Jo couldn’t tell if it was the van that had brought them. Maybe another vehicle had been there, waiting. He’d said someone would be watching them. She heard the bump and rattle of the undercarriage and the growl of the engine growing distant. In a few minutes, she heard nothing at all.

Her back, riddled with splinters, was on fire. Her shoulders ached from the way her arms were pinned behind her. She was filled with disgust thinking of the filth of his handkerchief across her face. She thought of trying to call out to Stevie, but if someone were watching it might get them all hurt. If it were only she, Jo would have fought to free herself. But there were others who could suffer from what she did. The man with the ski mask and the gun had bound her in many ways.

She heard a sound, very soft, to her right. She cocked her head and listened. It came again, a faint rustle, a scurry of tiny claws across wood. Some small animal had joined them. Jo knew it was probably something on the order of a ground squirrel. She wasn’t worried about a creature that moved on four little legs. In those woods, the only animal that terrified her walked on two.

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