The Hill

As consciousness slowly returned, Johnny could feel the biting cold of the air against his wet skin. The scent of the salty sea air, one that he used to love, hung all around him like a thick, oppressive fog.

"Come on, Johnny!"

He forced himself to move, pushing slowly up from the sandy beach. "I’m up, twerp, I’m up."

"Ataboy, Johnny. I knew you were still alive. I just knew it. Maybe I’m your guardian angel now, huh, Johnny?"

"Johnny felt a smile forcing itself upon his frozen cheeks. "Maybe, Skeets. Maybe."

Johnny stood and looked around. All he could make out was the form of a hill leading up from the shore to the woods. "Where the hell are we, Skeets? You know this place?"

"Yeah, Johnny, yeah. We’re almost home." Skeets took him by the hand, and pulled him up the hill. "My folks, they live just through the woods. I used to play here when I was a kid. Come on, the trail’s right up there." He pointed, but all Johnny could see were trees.

They plunged into the woods. "You sure this is a trail, Skeets?"

"Sure, I’m sure, Johnny. I told you, I grew up here. I’ve been on this trail a million times."

Johnny pushed the bushes aside as he fought his way through, following Skeets. "Sure is overgrown."

"I guess the kids don’t use it no more, but this is it, I’m sure of it."

As they pushed on through the thick underbrush, the squishing of their boots in the mud was interrupted only by a rare crackle from the occasional branch that had somehow survived the deluge, only to be snapped in two by the returning heroes.

"Imagine the look on their faces when they see us, Johnny. Just imagine."

Johnny smiled. It was good to see Skeets happy again.

"There it is, Johnny! There it is."

They had come to a clearing at the other side of the woods. Off in the distance, a small home was silhouetted by the glow from a single lamppost; there wasn’t another light as far as the eye could see. This lonely little house in the rolling hills was a welcomed sight for sore eyes.

Skeets ran toward the house. Johnny, usually the one to pull Skeets to safety, struggled to keep up as he fought the cramps in his legs. Skeets paused at the front door to wait for his friend. Johnny arrived a moment later, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to catch his breath. His belly ached from the run, and the cold wind that swirled down his lungs with each desperate gasp of air burned him from inside. He stared up in disbelief. Skeets was standing on porch, leaning effortlessly against the doorpost.

"Geez, Skeets," he gasped, "why couldn’t you … run like this … from Jerry?"

He fought to get the words out, but gradually started to recover as the pain of each breath eased.

Skeets just smiled. "You OK now, Johnny?"

"I’m OK." He was starting to feel better.

Skeets pointed down from the porch. "Pull out that loose brick."

Johnny pointed to a brick that abutted up against the stairs. Skeets nodded. Johnny pulled, and the loose brick slid easily away from the wall.

"Grab the key, Johnny. The folks are asleep, and I don’t want to wake them. They’re gettin’ kinda old, you know."

Johnny reached in the hole and grabbed the key. He pushed the brick back into place, and climbed quietly up the stairs. "You sure about this, Skeets? I’d think they’d be dyin’ to see you."

"Yeah, Johnny, I’m sure. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they wake and find us on the sofas." Skeets giggled like a child.

Johnny shook his head.