Denis Ever After by Tony Abbott

Author:Tony Abbott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-05-30T00:00:00+00:00

29

In the Boondocks

While Dad motors meanderingly north toward Buckwood, Matt searches his phone for cottages and maps them, then goes to satellite imagery to find a nearby bridge, all without letting on what he’s doing.

He finds something.

“There are four motor corns within two hours of Fanland,” Matt says in my head.

“I love motor corns, but you probably mean motor courts?”

“Sorry. Trying to get the hand off this thong. Hang. Hang of this thong. Thing!”

“Four motor courts are too many. Dad won’t go to all of them.”

“Well, then it’s hopeless,” he blurts aloud.

Dad has been silent since the gas station. “What is?”

Matt thinks on his feet. “If they—or he or whoever—kidnap Denis in a car, they could take him anywhere. But maybe it’s too late at night to send any kind of ransom demand, even if they know where to send it. What if they stayed somewhere?”

“Somewhere. Anywhere. The police set roadblocks and checkpoints, ran credit cards. Some people paid admission with cash. They couldn’t get everyone’s identity or search every home.”

“But maybe the kidnappers didn’t go home,” Matt says. “Maybe they don’t want to be tracked. Besides, they’d already gone. Probably. But where did they stay? If it was those creepy guys I think I saw, it wouldn’t be anywhere too nice.”

I have to hand it to the kid. Little by little he’s circling the idea of cabins in the boondocks.

Dad shakes his head. “Except that trail goes cold, too. The cops never found a direction. Denis was just . . . gone. . . . He vanished until the battlefield three days later. Matt, I don’t know if we’re getting anywhere. We’re not far from Buckwood. Call Mom and tell her we’re on our way. It’ll be better if she hears your voice.”

“I will,” Matt says, giving me a side glance. “In a bit.”

He needs more. While he searches his maps for some kind of clue, I slip through the back seat into the trunk again. Being shut in the suffocating space ripples through me, and I’m back outside cabin seven, at the end on the left.

I still couldn’t shift my body or make much noise. All my energy went into breathing. An hour passed, more. My legs and arms went cold, then numb. No bird calls anymore. It had to have been past midnight at this point. Four cars rolled in over the gravel, two others started up and left, their motors sputtering, but none of them were close enough to hear any sound I might make. Later, a couple of teenagers shouted, and there came a clatter of pots and pans. I’m more convinced than ever that I was taken to a cottage complex far out in the country.

Sometime after that, I heard clacking in the distance. It was different; not a car or truck, and it wasn’t coming at us, but by us, and it grew louder. Then there came the long, echoing hoot of a train whistle. It moved slowly, and I knew enough about trains to know they blew their whistles when approaching stations they don’t stop at.

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