Free 8-Track by L.J.Lahage

his hands but they were tied behind his back, his legs bound together above the knees. Who were these people, what did they want ?
    Bill heard the door to his barn open, the person carrying him never broke stride going inside and up the staircase. Unfinished wooden steps slapped against the tops of his feet, each one stinging more than the last. Bill’s nearly naked body dropped like a ton of bricks as it landed on the floor. He attempted to move but felt someone grab his ankle and drag him across the sawdust laden floor.
     The granular particles of wood stuck to Bill’s sweaty body, drifting into the sack over his head. Feeling like a rag doll, he was raised up, his lower legs were straddled on a beam and bound together tightly by another man. With his eyes burning from dust he tried to yell over the rag in his mouth.
    “MMMFF,” he groaned loudly and fought against the cord binding his limbs. Listening he heard talking, too low for Bill to recognize the voices. The sound of someone tromping down the stairs resonated through the barn. Bill thought he was alone until he felt the sack plucked off his head.
    Through teary eyes which were now puffy and swollen Bill looked through the gloom. Staring at the figure before him, Bill’s face went blank with uncertainty and fear. The man sauntered over to the work bench beneath the garden window. He picked something up. Bill struggled to see through the darkness, then wished he hadn’t.
    The figure wielding the flat head screwdriver looked possessed. Bill’s heart began to beat fast. There was no hesitation or pause as the man drove the tool into Bill’s right thigh, just above the kneecap.
    Bill screamed in pain over the rag in his mouth. Blood began to spew out of the wound. The expressionless figure stood up and removed the rag from Bill’s mouth. Gagging, Bill forced down the vomit threatening to spill out. Leaning in the man whispered in Bill’s ear.
    “You thought you could just move up here and do as you please? Leave this state while you’re still breathing. I don’t wanna have any quarrels with the man upstairs. If I’m wrong then let him be my judge,” the man said as he cut the cord binding Bill’s wrists and legs before walking away.
    Bill waited until he heard the door slam shut before reaching for the screwdriver buried in his thigh. Using both hands he eased it out, “Oh god, oh god,” he cried. Staggering on his feet, Bill half blindly went towards the window in hopes of finding something to tie off the wound. He could feel the warm blood snake down his leg, the sweat building on his neck. Then by the light of the moon he saw it in the distance, the Jamestown Bridge . Bill extended his arm, he reached for it before blacking out from the pain and falling to the floor with a thud.

Eli Was His Name
    Bill faded in and out of consciousness. The threat against his life if he stayed in town brought memories of him moving to Conway. His first day in town, he could feel the sweat building on the back of his neck. Summer had arrived. The commute to the union hall in Rochester was just over an hour, barring any traffic on Route 16.
    Woodsy mountain views, flowing creeks and that old town feeling greeted Bill as he exited at Old Dover Road. The building’s brick facade had faded over the years, turning it a mauve red. Sprawling green English Ivy ran up one side, looking more like it was holding up the old structure. Bill’s father had mentioned the hall was originally built as an armory during the Second World War.
    The US and local fourteen flag fluttered in the wind as Bill pulled into the lot. He noticed an aluminum faced garage out behind the union hall. Two Caucasian men were standing by it talking. Bill parked beside a shiny black 1957 Lincoln Premiere, which he noticed was in very good condition. Both men looked over at Bill as he walked by them. The rather tall one nodded, the other man shorter, took a sip of his coffee.
    Bill opened the front door