Out for a Jog

         Jeff was jogging through the woods. It was a clear day, although it was only 7:30 AM. Jeff liked to get up early to go jogging; it cleared his head before he started work.

         He was going down a trail that stretched through a park near his house and then deep into the woods. He jogged there often but not every day. He could not hear any traffic, just the sound of the wind and birds.

         He saw the power lines stretching above the trail. That meant he was close to the abandoned power station, which was next to the abandoned wooden trestle bridge. The bridge spanned over a very small valley with a rocky river at the bottom. Kids were fooling around there all the time, littering the place with beer bottles and trash and writing stupid stuff with graffiti. He had even gone there a few times with some friends when he was in high school.

         He heard a shout, which meant that some people were there now, probably doing really stupid shit like diving off the bridge. He had never actually seen anyone there during his jogging yet. He had only been jogging there for a few weeks.

         He decided that if anyone was jumping off the bridge then it was his job to tell them that the water was very shallow in most places because someone could get paralyzed. He heard a loud splash which confirmed his suspicions.

         As he continued to jog he arrived at a clearing, where he could see the old power station on one part of the hill and the rotting bridge that started beyond some bushes. There was a boy and a girl, both about 18, standing below the bridge, and there was one guy in the water, and another on top of the bridge, looking down at the water and waving his hands. The girl was smoking but he didn’t know what.

         “Hey you guys, that water’s really shallow!” he yelled out. “Just a head’s up.”

         The guy on the bridge screamed out just as Jeff said that and then leapt off and dove into the water head first.

         Jeff figured he had done his duty and turned to leave. Then he saw two other guys on the trail in front of him, about the same age as the others. He nodded at them and started to jog. He heard a mischievous laugh and then felt a sharp pain to the back of his head. “What the hell?” he stammered, because his eyes were cloudy. He began to turn around but felt another blow to the head and collapsed on the ground. He was barely conscious now but he heard talking and shuffling around on the grass beside him. As he fluctuated in and out of consciousness he felt himself being carried along by maybe 2 or more people. He felt as though he was moving near a building. Then he was out cold.

***

         When he woke up he was upright, and found that he couldn’t move at all. His hands were bound to pipes that were level to his head, and his ankles were bound to more pipes near the ground. He did not fall because he was sitting on an edge that wound its way around the plaster wall of the room he was in. From what he could see there were pipes all around the walls near where he was. His head really hurt. He could see a patch of light poking through the rusting ceiling. In front of him were eight kids, and they were drinking beer and smoking. His head really hurt.

         “Aw, he’s up,” said a boy. He walked up to Jeff and slapped him lightly a few times on one side of the face. “How are you hanging in there?” Jeff heard laughter, which was distorted by the pain shooting through his head. In the back of his mind he was thinking that that wasn’t funny at all. He suddenly felt very alert.

         “What are you doing?” asked Jeff. Then, he said, “This is the power station.”

         “We’re just fooling around,” said the boy. “And yeah, this is the power station.” Jeff saw that he was holding a switchblade knife in one hand. He also realized that the room smelled like pot. He looked at his bonds and tested them. They were pretty tight.

         Jeff watched as the boy played with the knife in his hand. “You know,” he said weakly, “Knives and pot really aren’t a great combination. How about you let me out of this?” Then he suddenly got bolder. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

         “Not a big fan of the pot, are you?” the boy said, stepping backward, away from him. Jeff had smelled alcohol on his breath so he knew the kid had some other problems. Without warning the boy flung the knife near Jeff’s head from about 10 feet away. Jeff yelled out and jerked his head and arm. The knife embedded itself in the space of plaster wall between Jeff’s head and his hand.

         “Holy shit!” screamed Jeff. The boy was pulling out some more knives, but Jeff was too delirious to notice where they were from.

         “They say that, pot and alcohol impair your… coordination,” the boy said loudly. Jeff could tell that he was drunk. The others were watching him.

         “Come on,” said one. “See how close you can hit him!”

         “Yeah, I’ll throw ‘em until I hit him once, and then I’ll just fucking kill him,” said the boy.

         Jeff almost pissed in his pants. He had a desperate idea and he tried to reach the knife next to his head. His hand just was weak and trembling though, partly because he was scared out of his mind and partly because it was hanging and losing its circulation.

         Jeff saw the boy’s arm move and heard a thump as a knife hit inches away from the right of his ribs. The kid was drunk, so this wouldn’t last long…

         He tried desperately to nudge the knife next to his head with the side of his head. Maybe he could drop it on his foot and kick it at them, and scare them. Anything. He wasn’t even close to reaching it with his head. “What the fuck are you doing!” he screamed automatically. “Stop it!”

         Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his shin. He screamed loudly once, and then again as the pain continued. The pain coursed through his body and he couldn’t think of anything he’d ever felt worse.

         Suddenly he felt the knife on the wall in his left hand because he had been straining for it the whole time without realizing it. Without thinking he managed to cut through the bond of his left hand, and he reached out to cut his right hand free. He was dimly aware that the others were screaming, and running up. He cut his other hand free.

         He was aware of someone with a knife, just barely, and he blocked it and then lashed out, and heard a scream. He was losing blood from his shin fast. He cut his right foot free, then pulled out the knife from his left shin. Pulling it out was as excruciating as when it was going in, and he was aware that they were rushing toward him to stop him. He lashed out, punching and cutting with the knife. Then his left foot was free, and he hobbled away from the wall. He stabbed someone in the side and punched someone in the face. He limped away. He was almost blind with pain.

         He felt another pain in his left arm but his mind barely registered it, although it was as bad as his shin. He dropped his knife. He punched a girl in the face, took her knife, and then cut her in the leg as she fell. He saw stairs and he struggled down them. At the bottom he saw rows of tables and counters, and a large propane storage tank, and a tube connected to it, and a metal knob. He saw some matches on a table nearby. He turned on the knob. He saw a window to his left. He was in so much pain.

         He heard something at the top of the stairs above, the sound echoing in his pain wracked head. Unthinkingly he lit a match. He thought there were about five people on the stairs but he didn’t know. He slashed the tube and tossed the match in front of it. He felt a burning heat and jumped through the glass window, falling ten feet before hitting the ground and twisting his left ankle.

         He was in so much pain that he couldn’t hear, but it was as though he could feel sound. He felt the vibrations and heat of a large explosion behind him, like there was a bonfire. He limped up the grassy hill, back onto the path, so he could find a road and get some help.