The Broken by Sean Michael Frawley
more than an apology to get out of this alive. Desperate to find an escape, he felt like his brain was about to explode. When he failed to find an exit strategy, he searched Fade's massive frame for any area of weakness and discovered, much to his disappointment, that the brute was built like an armored truck. He wondered briefly if a unibrow could be considered an area of weakness. If so, that was where he would have to strike, assuming his fist could reach up that high.
"Are you ready to die, loser?"
The last remnants of depression fled Link's brain entirely, leaving room for a new emotion: fear. Raw terror jolted his senses into overdrive. He wanted to live, and he was determined to find a way to do it. He looked toward the bloodthirsty crowd who appeared to be drooling over the anticipated violence. Clearly, they weren't going to be any help.
Just as he was about to abandon all hope, he heard a faint noise off in the distance. It was difficult to discern over the eager din of the crowd, but it quickly gained intensity. As the noise grew more recognizable, a stunned hush fell over the spectators.
Link watched the crowd turn. Then he heard a girlish cry. Thankfully, the voice of horror had not been his own. Instead, it belonged to a small, round-faced girl at the edge of the crowd. Her one-word warning of "Chomper!" sent a shockwave of panic rippling through the gathering.
The already riotous crowd burst into a maelstrom of feet and arms. The flailing limbs seemed to be tangling up in what looked like a demented zombie square dance. Uncertain where the sound had originated from, kids ran in every direction. Some jumped over the fence. Others hurried into the school gymnasium in a seething mass of desperation. People were pushed, knocked over, and stepped on during the crowd's frantic attempts to escape.
Link also ran. Though it was probably just a dog, the way the girl had screamed told him that Chomper was not a dog he wanted to mess with. Besides, anything capable of dispersing a homicidal audience of this size was not something he wanted to face by himself.
The barking grew louder and louder. Link ducked and dodged around fleeing classmates. After dashing to the lot's towering chain-link fence, Link heaved himself over. A painful jolt shot through his legs as he connected with the ground on the other side.
Uncertain whether or not there was a gate further along the fence that a dog could run through, he hopped over a row of small bushes. Then he burst into the middle of the road without so much as a glance for oncoming traffic. Safety Steve, his boyhood hero, would have been appalled. Link careened around the corner and broke into a mad dash down the lane. He didn't look back. There wasn't time. He ran as fast as his legs would take him.
The angry barking had long since faded into the background, but Link continued to run. His feet pounded the concrete sidewalk, suppressing each new ridiculous fear that popped into his head. His terror slowly began to subside, but it was replaced by a sort of nervous thrill, an exhilaration that combined energy and adrenaline into a mixed-up stimulant cocktail.
In one breath, Link felt lucky to be alive, angry at the universe, and excited about the prospect of escaping into the weekend without the need for substantial amounts of cosmetic surgery.
21
The Woodpecker
Link eased his pace to a walk. He searched for any indication of where he'd run, but it was hard to tell. Blind panic had fueled his escape from school, and now he found that he was completely lost.
Still deep in concentration, Link jumped when he heard the familiar cackle of an old lady. She screamed at him from her front porch. Perhaps it was the residual adrenaline left over from his near-death experience, but the woman's voice sent shockwaves to the tips of his fingers.
He turned, but he refused to look in her direction. The next instant the old lady stood directly in front of him. Link looked back, confused. He recognized her as the same woman who had called him a hooligan yesterday just before his run in with the tree.
"But..." he said. His words broke off in his throat as he whirled to where the old lady's voice had originated only seconds before. "How..."
"Aren't you the articulate one?" she said. There was a mischievous glint in her eye as if she were enjoying Link's confusion.
"But..."
"My name is Mrs. Kidacki. I would love to introduce myself properly, but for now all you need to know is that I am a friend. And it is in a gesture of this friendship that I suggest you step inside my house. Perhaps I could interest you in a cool glass of lemonade and some cookies."
Unnerved by the woman's sudden pretense of kindness, Link edged away, wary of what she might do next. His head was spinning. Whatever was going on here, he didn't like it.
"Lincoln Amoeba Hartkins," the old lady said, "it isn't safe for you to be in the street right now. Please," she motioned toward the front door, "come inside with me. I baked some cookies. They're still warm."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I need to get home." Link had learned never to take candy from strangers back when he was five. He didn't see how cookies and lemonade were any different.
"Please, child, you must come inside. You are in grave danger out here." Seemingly sensing his apprehension, she said, "I'll tell you what. Why don't you watch from the window? If, after a few minutes, you think I am lying to you, you're welcome to go on your way."
"Where is he?" a voice called from somewhere behind a row of golden privet. The dense foliage hid the corner house on the adjacent street from view, so it was hard to tell how close the voices were.
"He went that way," someone yelled.
Link recognized the voice immediately, and he had no desire to face Fade for a second time in one day. On the other hand, Mrs. Kidacki was creepy. He questioned the prudence of entering her house, especially when nobody knew where he was. If something happened to him, his friends would have no idea where to find his body.
Even though both options held the possibility of pain, only one offered the consolation of warm cookies and lemonade. Link decided to take Mrs. Kidacki up on her offer. Anxious to get out of sight, he nodded once at her before hurrying down the path and plunging into the front door. Upon entering the house, he had the odd sensation of having made a fatal mistake, like a mouse that had fallen into the pit of a viper. He turned around to make his excuses and leave but found the woman right behind him. Without a word, she shut the door. Once again he marveled at the woman's agility. How had she made it to the porch so fast?
"Hey, old witch," Fade shouted from the street, "you see a small kid run by here? He's got bright red hair."
"Yeah," another one called. "Looks like a freakin' woodpecker."
Even from Link's position behind the solid front door, he could hear a chorus of hearty laughter, along with something that sounded like high fives. It took all of his waning resolve not to yell back a witty reply. Deaf and dumb, he reminded himself. Deaf and dumb.
The old lady began waving her arms about wildly as if shooing away imaginary bats. "Woodpeckers? Where are they? Are they after me? I hate birds!"
There was a brief silence. Then one of the boys said, "Forget it, man. That lady is nuts. Let's go before we lose him."
Link heard them run off and risked a peek through Mrs. Kidacki's lace curtains. What caught his eye wasn't the pack of boys but an oddly shaped shadow that appeared to be running alongside of them. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but they were already gone.
22
A Pile of Death
Even though Link knew that Fade was gone, he stayed pressed behind the door. Mrs. Kidacki had stayed outside to watch the boys disappear down the street before calmly coming back up the walkway and into the house. As she rearranged the furniture in her front room to be out of the sight lines from the street, Link examined the old lady more closely, scrutinizing her clothes, her face, even the hobbled way that she walked. He knew if he looked hard enough, he'd find some sort of price tag which would reveal how much he'd have to pay for her kindness. He just prayed he had enough to cover the bill.
"Sit?" she said, indicating a wi
ne-red wingback chair with the wave of her hand. "You look as though you've had a long day."
Link did as he was told.
"I'm afraid I owe you an apology," she said. "When I saw you loitering outside my house the other day, I thought you were just another one of those hooligans, like the ones chasing you back there."
"How'd you know they were after me?"
"Well now, there aren't many giant woodpeckers around here. If there were, you could hear them tap, tap, tapping all the time. It would make an awful racket."
Link knew the old lady was making light of the situation. "No, before that. You knew they were coming. That hedge is too tall. There's no way you saw them from where you were. But if you didn't see them, how'd you know I was in danger?"
"Let's just call it a lucky guess."
"Was it luck?"
"It was lucky for you, I suppose. Wouldn't you agree, Lincoln?"
"Well, I-"
"Now," she interrupted, "how about the cookies and lemonade I promised?"
Before Link had time to refuse, she was gone. Again, he noticed how improbably fast she moved. Despite the way she hobbled whenever he watched her, the second he looked away, she seemed to warp to a different location.
It reminded him of being sick with fever, falling in and out of sleep. Minutes seemed like hours, and yet hours sometimes moved faster than seconds.
Link surveyed the room. It wasn't at all what he'd expected. The room was not garbed in
"Are you ready to die, loser?"
The last remnants of depression fled Link's brain entirely, leaving room for a new emotion: fear. Raw terror jolted his senses into overdrive. He wanted to live, and he was determined to find a way to do it. He looked toward the bloodthirsty crowd who appeared to be drooling over the anticipated violence. Clearly, they weren't going to be any help.
Just as he was about to abandon all hope, he heard a faint noise off in the distance. It was difficult to discern over the eager din of the crowd, but it quickly gained intensity. As the noise grew more recognizable, a stunned hush fell over the spectators.
Link watched the crowd turn. Then he heard a girlish cry. Thankfully, the voice of horror had not been his own. Instead, it belonged to a small, round-faced girl at the edge of the crowd. Her one-word warning of "Chomper!" sent a shockwave of panic rippling through the gathering.
The already riotous crowd burst into a maelstrom of feet and arms. The flailing limbs seemed to be tangling up in what looked like a demented zombie square dance. Uncertain where the sound had originated from, kids ran in every direction. Some jumped over the fence. Others hurried into the school gymnasium in a seething mass of desperation. People were pushed, knocked over, and stepped on during the crowd's frantic attempts to escape.
Link also ran. Though it was probably just a dog, the way the girl had screamed told him that Chomper was not a dog he wanted to mess with. Besides, anything capable of dispersing a homicidal audience of this size was not something he wanted to face by himself.
The barking grew louder and louder. Link ducked and dodged around fleeing classmates. After dashing to the lot's towering chain-link fence, Link heaved himself over. A painful jolt shot through his legs as he connected with the ground on the other side.
Uncertain whether or not there was a gate further along the fence that a dog could run through, he hopped over a row of small bushes. Then he burst into the middle of the road without so much as a glance for oncoming traffic. Safety Steve, his boyhood hero, would have been appalled. Link careened around the corner and broke into a mad dash down the lane. He didn't look back. There wasn't time. He ran as fast as his legs would take him.
The angry barking had long since faded into the background, but Link continued to run. His feet pounded the concrete sidewalk, suppressing each new ridiculous fear that popped into his head. His terror slowly began to subside, but it was replaced by a sort of nervous thrill, an exhilaration that combined energy and adrenaline into a mixed-up stimulant cocktail.
In one breath, Link felt lucky to be alive, angry at the universe, and excited about the prospect of escaping into the weekend without the need for substantial amounts of cosmetic surgery.
21
The Woodpecker
Link eased his pace to a walk. He searched for any indication of where he'd run, but it was hard to tell. Blind panic had fueled his escape from school, and now he found that he was completely lost.
Still deep in concentration, Link jumped when he heard the familiar cackle of an old lady. She screamed at him from her front porch. Perhaps it was the residual adrenaline left over from his near-death experience, but the woman's voice sent shockwaves to the tips of his fingers.
He turned, but he refused to look in her direction. The next instant the old lady stood directly in front of him. Link looked back, confused. He recognized her as the same woman who had called him a hooligan yesterday just before his run in with the tree.
"But..." he said. His words broke off in his throat as he whirled to where the old lady's voice had originated only seconds before. "How..."
"Aren't you the articulate one?" she said. There was a mischievous glint in her eye as if she were enjoying Link's confusion.
"But..."
"My name is Mrs. Kidacki. I would love to introduce myself properly, but for now all you need to know is that I am a friend. And it is in a gesture of this friendship that I suggest you step inside my house. Perhaps I could interest you in a cool glass of lemonade and some cookies."
Unnerved by the woman's sudden pretense of kindness, Link edged away, wary of what she might do next. His head was spinning. Whatever was going on here, he didn't like it.
"Lincoln Amoeba Hartkins," the old lady said, "it isn't safe for you to be in the street right now. Please," she motioned toward the front door, "come inside with me. I baked some cookies. They're still warm."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I need to get home." Link had learned never to take candy from strangers back when he was five. He didn't see how cookies and lemonade were any different.
"Please, child, you must come inside. You are in grave danger out here." Seemingly sensing his apprehension, she said, "I'll tell you what. Why don't you watch from the window? If, after a few minutes, you think I am lying to you, you're welcome to go on your way."
"Where is he?" a voice called from somewhere behind a row of golden privet. The dense foliage hid the corner house on the adjacent street from view, so it was hard to tell how close the voices were.
"He went that way," someone yelled.
Link recognized the voice immediately, and he had no desire to face Fade for a second time in one day. On the other hand, Mrs. Kidacki was creepy. He questioned the prudence of entering her house, especially when nobody knew where he was. If something happened to him, his friends would have no idea where to find his body.
Even though both options held the possibility of pain, only one offered the consolation of warm cookies and lemonade. Link decided to take Mrs. Kidacki up on her offer. Anxious to get out of sight, he nodded once at her before hurrying down the path and plunging into the front door. Upon entering the house, he had the odd sensation of having made a fatal mistake, like a mouse that had fallen into the pit of a viper. He turned around to make his excuses and leave but found the woman right behind him. Without a word, she shut the door. Once again he marveled at the woman's agility. How had she made it to the porch so fast?
"Hey, old witch," Fade shouted from the street, "you see a small kid run by here? He's got bright red hair."
"Yeah," another one called. "Looks like a freakin' woodpecker."
Even from Link's position behind the solid front door, he could hear a chorus of hearty laughter, along with something that sounded like high fives. It took all of his waning resolve not to yell back a witty reply. Deaf and dumb, he reminded himself. Deaf and dumb.
The old lady began waving her arms about wildly as if shooing away imaginary bats. "Woodpeckers? Where are they? Are they after me? I hate birds!"
There was a brief silence. Then one of the boys said, "Forget it, man. That lady is nuts. Let's go before we lose him."
Link heard them run off and risked a peek through Mrs. Kidacki's lace curtains. What caught his eye wasn't the pack of boys but an oddly shaped shadow that appeared to be running alongside of them. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but they were already gone.
22
A Pile of Death
Even though Link knew that Fade was gone, he stayed pressed behind the door. Mrs. Kidacki had stayed outside to watch the boys disappear down the street before calmly coming back up the walkway and into the house. As she rearranged the furniture in her front room to be out of the sight lines from the street, Link examined the old lady more closely, scrutinizing her clothes, her face, even the hobbled way that she walked. He knew if he looked hard enough, he'd find some sort of price tag which would reveal how much he'd have to pay for her kindness. He just prayed he had enough to cover the bill.
"Sit?" she said, indicating a wi
Link did as he was told.
"I'm afraid I owe you an apology," she said. "When I saw you loitering outside my house the other day, I thought you were just another one of those hooligans, like the ones chasing you back there."
"How'd you know they were after me?"
"Well now, there aren't many giant woodpeckers around here. If there were, you could hear them tap, tap, tapping all the time. It would make an awful racket."
Link knew the old lady was making light of the situation. "No, before that. You knew they were coming. That hedge is too tall. There's no way you saw them from where you were. But if you didn't see them, how'd you know I was in danger?"
"Let's just call it a lucky guess."
"Was it luck?"
"It was lucky for you, I suppose. Wouldn't you agree, Lincoln?"
"Well, I-"
"Now," she interrupted, "how about the cookies and lemonade I promised?"
Before Link had time to refuse, she was gone. Again, he noticed how improbably fast she moved. Despite the way she hobbled whenever he watched her, the second he looked away, she seemed to warp to a different location.
It reminded him of being sick with fever, falling in and out of sleep. Minutes seemed like hours, and yet hours sometimes moved faster than seconds.
Link surveyed the room. It wasn't at all what he'd expected. The room was not garbed in