Free Gravity Check by Alex Van Tol

we’re going. I try not to imagine what possible help I’ll be able to offer. I simply focus on pushing my feet around and around. Following the ATV so I can see where it’s taking Seth.
    At last we turn off the double track onto an old logging road. I stay well back. I pray there aren’t other guards hanging out in the thickets of the grow-op.
    The ATV stops in front of a small wooden cabin at the road’s edge. It’s about the size of a single garage. I wrestle my bike into the trees and watch. Skinny Guy is saying something to Seth, and Seth is shaking his head. Skinny Guy lets Seth jump down from the ATV . Seth stands up as well as he can with his ankles tied, and Skinny Guy slaps a piece of duct tape over his mouth. From his pocket he produces a folding knife. A knife ? Oh god . My horror turns to relief as he reaches down and slices through the duct tape binding Seth’s ankles. Then he gives Seth a sharp push toward the cabin. Seth knows enough not to look for me. I hope he knows I’m here. I can only imagine how terrified he’s feeling right now.
    I edge closer to the cabin. When the door closes behind Seth and his captor, I run forward quickly and quietly. I size up the cabin. There aren’t any windows on this side. No one can look out and spot me dashing from tree to tree.
    Three bikes are leaning up against the side of the building. Chase. Nolan. Rico. A mixture of relief and dread washes over me. Are they still alive?
    My panic rises. What am I supposed to do now? Storm into the cabin and just… free everybody? From right under this ugly thug’s nose?
    No, wait. Make that two ugly thugs.
    As I’m hiding and freaking out behind the trunk of a big fir, the door to the cabin opens and a second guy steps out onto the porch. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. Biker boots. The bottom of his nose is pierced with a metal bar that curves downward, like an angry frown. He stretches as though he’s just woken up from a long sleep. Even from my limited vantage point, I can see he’s a big dude. A scary dude.
    With one tattooed, well-muscled arm, he lifts a smoke to his mouth. Crams his hand into the pocket of his jeans and produces a lighter. He sparks up the cigarette and takes a deep pull. Skinny Guy comes back outside, closing the door behind him. Big Dude offers him the cigarette. Skinny Guy takes a puff and coughs a bit. Passes it back to Big Dude.
    The smoke drifts toward me. It’s sweet and peppery. I realize they’re smoking a joint, not a cigarette. I don’t smoke up, but I’ve been around people who do. My panic eases a little bit. This is good. They might be easier to deal with if they’re stoned and slow moving.
    Deal with them? How, exactly, am I supposed to deal with them?
    As I’m wondering this, Big Dude hands Skinny Guy the joint and pulls a phone out of his back pocket. He pulls up the antenna and places a call. Waits for the satellites to align their signals. Skinny Guy smokes and looks around at the forest. When his head swivels in my direction, my heart leaps into my mouth. I jerk my head behind the tree and hold my breath.
    I’m starting to feel a bit like James Bond.
    As soon as the thought bubbles up, I grab on to it. I can do this. I’m just going to imagine that I’m some special-forces guy who does this kind of stuff for a living. Spies on people. Immobilizes thugs. Rescues his friends.
    The thought calms me. My heart slows to a regular rhythm. My field of vision opens. I see more. My ears sharpen.
    Something inside me hardens, steeling itself for what lies ahead.
    Big Dude talks into the phone, his voice low and quiet. It bugs me that I can’t hear the conversation. I decide to dash from the tree to where there’s an opening under the porch of the cabin. It’s a crazy place to go, since it’s right under where they’re standing, but there’s nowhere closer where I can still