Get Away by Catherine Austen

The road lay behind him in the darkness. Parents, little brother, neighbours and classmates all asleep. No one to watch him go. It was unsettling but Dennis tried to embrace it. The smells were stronger at night — soil, leaf litter, pavement wet with rain. Kind of nauseating, but that could just be nerves. Thankfully the rain had stopped. He’d have gone anyway. Seize the night. And there was someone waiting for him that he couldn’t disappoint.

            Leaves clumped like glue beneath his feet. The toes of his runners were already soaked. He should have worn boots, but the thought of walking miles in boots hurt. His shoes could dry out on the road tomorrow. This was the last rain in the forecast. A few sunny weeks coming, then maybe snow. He’d be cozy by then. His sneakers would be heating up by a woodstove.

            Candy said that she was certain the cottage was empty. Certain it was insulated. Certain they could make the hike to town and back for dumpster diving if they needed to. She was a crack shot, but that wouldn’t matter if there was no game. We’ll shoot the locals, she joked, if we’re hungry enough. She had a weird sense of humour. He’d never met anyone like her. He wished he could have stayed to show her off.

            It was her idea to take their parents’ credit cards, the emergency ones tucked away that wouldn’t be noticed till Christmas. Tap-tap till then.

            He was thinking of all he’d like to buy when he saw them — just one at first, an older guy in a parka up ahead, but as he looked around he saw three more. A kid his age dragging along in boots on the other side of the street, two men behind him walking a few feet apart. All headed in the same direction. All carrying packs. At 3 am.

            “You’re not supposed to be out this late!” the teen shouted at him.

            It took a second to recognize the kid in his hoodie. “Anthony?”

            The kid laughed as he crossed over. “Yo Dennis, your folks’ll kill you if they find you sneaking out.”

            “I won’t be around to kill. I’m leaving.”

            “No kidding? Me too.”

            “Where you going?”

            Anthony grinned. “There’s this girl.”

            Dennis laughed. “Same here, man.” He checked his watch. “We’re meeting up in the park and running away together.”

            “No shit! Same here.”

            The older man ahead turned into the park and the two boys followed. Three other men were already there, spaced out, each at his own picnic table.

            “What the hell?” Dennis said. “Aw man, I hope this isn’t a pickup spot.”

He and Anthony sat on the swings and no one paid them attention.

            “Wish I could see the look on Ms. Shaver’s face when neither of us shows for the presentation,” Anthony said.

            Dennis’s smile faltered. “She’ll be on the blower to our folks.”

            Anthony nodded. “I left a note. My girlfriend said not to, but I didn’t want them to worry.”

            “I wanted to leave a note. Shit. I should have left one.” Dennis imagined his little brother walking home from school alone, day after day. His mother crying while she stirred spaghetti sauce. His father in the easy chair drinking another beer, mute and hard. “I should go back,” he said, and he hopped off the swing.

            But it was 3:30 now, and the last man had arrived. Eight of them altogether, spaced out evenly in the dimly-lit park, lined up like ducks. And from the treeline, the first shot was fired.

            And then seven more.