The Pits (11/12)

To say Max was stunned was an understatement. This weird old man didn’t look like he could walk more than fifty feet without needing a break. But he’d nearly vaulted down the stairs, swinging around a rather heavy sledgehammer; the same one that had incapacitated him just minutes earlier. ‘Just like the killers in horror movies…’

            Before Max could ask the old man how he was still standing after losing so much blood, the old man swung the hammer to his right with a force that seemed more than what a man his age should have, hitting one of the other cultists in the jaw. Their jaw hung down connected only to the rest of their head by the skin of their face. They collapsed to their knees trying to hold their lower jaw in place and, unsuccessfully, attempting to limit the loss of blood.

            There was a sound of bones breaking, bringing Max’s attention to a cultist standing to the left of the old man. Only the cultist was no longer standing. Instead, she was lying on her side, clutching the right side of her face. The murderer had slammed the sledgehammer into her to bring her down, then brought it above his head.

            “You must have a death wish,” the older man said to Max. “If you’re still in my line of sight when I’m done, you’re mine!”

            At that, Max took off running past the old man. He didn’t wait to see him hit anyone else. Although, he did hear the dull thud of the hammer coming down, probably finishing off the second cultist. After that, the old man began counting down from ten. Max barely heard the old man yell “Eight!” as he ran out behind the tree line.

            He knew there were more cultists than what were in the house. Max only had a limited amount of time to get back to the parking lot before the leader of the cult realized his so-called family was being picked off.

            Max ran through the woods as fast as he could, paying attention to what was on the ground, so he didn’t trip. That was the last thing he needed.

            “AAHHH!” Max screamed as he was pulled up into a tree. He’d fallen into a trap. The rope tightened around his ankle and yanked him into the tree so quickly he almost didn’t register that he’d taken a heavy hit to the head against the ground. For a minute, he flailed in the air, spinning in the grip of the rope. Max stopped, calming himself so that he could figure out the best way down, when he noticed he could still see the old man’s cabin from where he was hanging. The man’s words echoed in Max’s head ‘If you’re still in my line of sight…’

            Remembering the one good thing his father had ever done for him, Max reached up into his boot to pull out the pocket knife he was given for his birthday years ago. The only reason he’d kept it was to remind himself that there was good in everyone. He flicked it open before reaching even further to saw at the rope next to his ankle; he didn’t need a long piece of rope getting caught on something, or by someone. Just before he could finish cutting the rope; however, an arrow whizzed past, grazing his hand. A second arrow followed, slicing through the rope, leaving gravity to pull Max to the earth as hard as it would allow.

            Winded, Max sat up, leaning on his left arm to balance himself as he stood. A third arrow pierced his arm.

            “Son-of-a-bitch!” Max screeched. ‘At least their getting better at hitting moving targets.’

            Max stood up, and began to jog, but couldn’t stand the pain the arrow was causing him. He knew it would continue to bother him if he didn’t do something.

            ‘The arrowhead is interchangeable’ he reached to the arrowhead and began to unscrew it. In the past, he’d seen professional archers switch the safety arrow tips with ones meant for hunting. The blades on the arrowhead were sharp and cut his fingers as he jogged, but he cared more that his bloody fingers might make it more difficult to grasp things. Finally, with the arrowhead off, he pulled the arrow out of his arm from the back. Max felt a wave of intense pain followed by relief noticing his wound hurt less now.

            Max dodged more arrows as he ran onto the main trail.

            ‘Finally, something familiar!’

            He began to run faster, getting a second wind from the realization that he was no longer lost. His shoots kicked up dust as he pounded his way up the trail that opened to a field that was used for extra parking during events that were held during the summer. Just before he got the sidewalk that encircled the majority of the park Max felt something sharp hit his left leg half-way up his shin. He tripped sliding across the grass, wet from the sprinkler system doing its’ job. Max didn’t even have to look. He already knew it was another arrow. He did, however, look back to see the cultists that were chasing him were much closer than he thought.

            ‘Gonna have to suck it up. I don’t have time to take it out. Just pretend it doesn’t hurt.’

            Max pushed himself up, trying to run as fast as he could, given his newly acquired handicap. He ran across the football field hoping the shortcut would get him to his car without anymore injuries. As he ran past the pavilion Max noticed there were two teenagers playing basketball.

            ‘They wouldn’t attack me in front of other people, would they?’

            One of the cultists took aim and fired and arrow at the teenagers, hitting one of them through the back of his head, poking out his right eye. The girl he was playing against began to scream as loud as she possibly could, prompting the second cult member closer to catching Max to switch he focus to the girl; firing an arrow that flew into her open mouth, through the back of her head.

            By this time, Max was in his car, and the cultists stopped chasing. They had used their last arrows on the kids playing basketball and couldn’t do any damage to someone enclosed in plastic, glass and metal parts. He turned on the headlights flashing beams of light onto the hill behind the cultists. On top of the hill was the old man, saturated in the blood of his enemies. Holding the head of the cult leader.

 Max panicked, putting the car in the wrong gear before he hit the gas, causing his car to charge backwards into, presumably, the car the teen drove to the park. ‘They won’t be needing it, anyway.’

With all of the thoughts running through his mind, Max decided the first thing he’d do was drive to the police station. He didn’t feel safe driving directly home. Plus, he needed to go to a hospital for his injuries, and he vaguely remembered promising to Simon that he’d get help. Or was it Gio? Did he even say it at all? Who cares. It had to be done.

Max pulled up and stopped at a red light. He looked to the glow-in-the-dark rosary his grandmother had gotten him.

“Hey, Grandma. You think the cops’ll believe me with an arrow in my leg?