The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors

asshole. You have bigger problems right now.
    Like getting the hell out of here. Speaking of which, it was time to bite the bullet. He turned back to Dougie one last time, gave him a brief, purposeful nod, and streaked across the foyer to the front door.
    Unlocked. It was unlocked, too. After a long, lingering look through a decorative glass panel— No guards, where are all the fucking guards ? —he threw it open.
    And was hit face-on with cold air and starlight so fucking beautiful he could have cried.
    Probably would’ve, if not for Dougie crowding up behind him, pressing right into his back, as stubborn as a barnacle.
    This was it.
    Freedom.
    Gotta move. Appreciate it later. Preferably from the lobby of a police station.
    Of course, the big fucking question was: where to go ? They could follow the driveway, but if someone woke and noticed them missing, that’d be the first place they’d look. The forest was safer. Maybe they could parallel the driveway from thirty or forty feet deep in the tree line. Shit, he was freezing. His feet were already numb just standing out here on the porch. Maybe that was for the best, though; a single pair of wool socks wasn’t exactly much protection from all the rocks and sticks and shit littering the forest floor, and at least this way he wouldn’t feel the pain so much. Dougie was shivering too, but he was dressed pretty warm; Mat didn’t think it was the cold making his little brother shake.
    Damn it. Fuck shit damn! His fingers tightened around his sticks. He’d never wanted to hit something so badly in his entire life.
    Behind him, Dougie made an awful little mewling sound. Like he’d sensed Mat’s anger and was terrified by it. Mat forced himself to relax. Stay loose and easy. Stay sharp. Get moving. Come on, he tried to say, but it came out, “Kuh uh.” Whatever, close enough. He darted down the stairs and onto the driveway, and Dougie followed. Still a lost puppy, hugging himself, body small and frightened as he darted behind Mat and followed him into the shadowy overgrowth.
    Stay close, kiddo. Just like when we used to go running. Stay close to me.
    Mat had never bought into the barefoot running fad, a fact that was becoming really apparent now. It felt like he was walking on broken glass, and they’d barely made it past the tree line. Oh well, at least out here in the wilderness there was no risk of stepping on somebody’s used hypodermic like back in Vegas.
    Dougie followed close behind, still hugging himself, breathing heavily so that plumes of white breath erupted from him like from a steam engine’s stack. It was darker in the trees. Harder to see. Mat tripped over something, stumbled three or four feet down an incline, stubbed his toe before regaining his balance. He’d dropped one of his sticks in the process. Didn’t really see a point in picking it back up. In tight quarters like these, poplar trunks growing skinny and close, he’d be better off bare-handed. He dropped the other stick. Squinted up through the canopy at the stars. Found the Big Dipper and then the North Star, off to his left. Which meant the mountain was sloping down to the east. Perfect. If they were anywhere near where the foliage seemed to suggest they were, the ranges in this area ran mostly north to south. Heading east meant they’d run into civilization sooner rather than later.
    Except they didn’t. The going was painfully slow in the dark and the muscle-cramping cold, especially with Dougie lagging behind, still sniffling like a child. Mat was freezing, and thirsty, and it was hard to breathe through this fucking gag, and God, he didn’t even want to think about his feet. If he managed to survive this ordeal with all his toes intact, he’d be genuinely surprised. The cold had numbed nearly every inch of him, and what it didn’t numb, it shot through with burning pins and needles. He lost sight of the driveway without even realizing it’d happened. Hiked down and hit a gulch. No way out but back up. Nearly fucking vertical. No easy feat wrapped in a fucking blanket. Dougie didn’t seem to be faring much better. He was dressed more appropriately, but not for this, not for winter in the fucking mountains in the middle of the fucking night. The wind tore at their hair. Dougie looked . . . listless. Like he was going where Mat led him only because he couldn’t bear to be alone. Like he hated every fucking step of it. Like a man walking to the gallows who didn’t even